58: Your Call
by cali-chan
Summary: "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just CALLED."
1. Chapter 1

**Your Call**

_Chapter 1_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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"Wow. I knew Freddie would miss us, but I didn't think he would start calling just three hours after having left town."

Sam smirked as she took her phone from Carly, who was handing it to her, her eyes a little wide. The phone was vibrating, but no sound was coming out- when had she set it on silent mode? She couldn't remember. The screen was lit up with the words "DORKBOY KING OF THE LOSERS" announcing the caller in block letters, and she could almost hear her brunette best friend's thoughts now: Why was Freddie calling so soon? Did something happen? And if it did, why was he calling _Sam?_ Yes, under normal circumstances, she would find this odd, as well. However... this call, she was expecting.

There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she flipped the phone open and pressed the call button. Carly didn't seem to miss it. "Wiggy Willy's auto repair shop, what can we help you with today?"

_"YOU!"_

She tried really hard not to burst out in laughter, and ended up letting out a big snort. "Freddiebuns! So good to hear from you, man! It's been ages," she quipped, a chuckle in her tone.

"Don't start with that now!" came her dorky frienemy's agitated voice through the earpiece. "You rigged our car so we'd get a flat! What the hell is _wrong_ with you?" his voice cracked when he said 'wrong,' and she could just picture the veins in his throat were about two seconds away from bursting.

His mother must've commented on his language, because she heard the mumble of a woman's voice (or maybe a far-away screech) and he groaned. "Now, now, Benson," she let out, in a conciliatory tone that somehow ended up sounding much more like a taunt. "Do you have proof of that? 'Cause you know: no body, no crime."

"Yeah, like I don't know you," came his spat, and this time, she had to laugh at the irony.

Really, they should've known. When he'd promised to call even if she didn't want him to, and she told him she was "counting on it"- did they not know her _at all?_ They may not have seen her smirk because they were too busy being all sobby and huggy, but they should have heard the deviousness in her tone. Of _course_ she had something up her sleeve. She always did. So in reality, the whole thing was his own fault for being oblivious. "It's not funny!" he chastised her, and his desperate tone only made her laugh harder. "We're stuck in some abandoned road in Middle of Nowhere, Washington, and the only human contact we've had in the last fifteen minutes was a greasy trucker who honked at us and _winked_ at me!"

She laughed so hard she actually fell off the couch. Carly threw her a look that was halfway between anxious and amused. "I'm serious, Sam!" came Freddie's wail through the telephone. "We're not going to make it to Spokane in time and my Mom is already hyperventilating about delayed schedules!" he muttered in a loud whisper. Probably didn't want Crazy Mama Benson to hear him badmouth her. There was a pause, then he added: "And raccoons. You _know_ how crazy she gets about raccoons."

"You haven't even changed the stupid thing yet?" she asked him as she caught her breath. Man, she wished she'd thought of putting a camera on their roof of their cutesy little U-Haul truck or something; she would pay big bucks to be able to see the expression on his face right then. She hauled herself up, falling back into the couch with an oomph.

"You know Mom thinks it's dangerous to crouch under the-!" He caught himself in time before he humiliated himself any further, instead choosing to end the sentence with a mortified groan. "Why...? Why do you delight in torturing me?"

Because he made it so easy, she thought with a snicker. "Oh, just take a chill pill, will ya? Listen." She propped herself up more comfortably against the pillow she was resting on. She stretched her legs over Carly's lap, as the other girl was sitting at the opposite end of the couch. Carly rolled her eyes and pushed Sam's legs off her lap, still trying to piece together Freddie's problem by hearing only Sam's side of the conversation. "Check your glove compartment. There's a presentation card there, and it's got the phone number of a mechanic. Spencer recommended him; apparently he's a relative of Socko's. Call him; he'll have you guys back on the road in no time."

"A mechanic?" muttered Carly, beginning to put two and two together.

"Oh, and how did you know I was going to need a mechanic?" he asked Sam, gruffly, but with a tone of triumph lingering on the edges of his voice. She heard some shuffling on the other side of the line; she figured he was looking for the card. "Is that a confession?"

"No," she scoffed. They both knew very well that Sam Puckett would never, ever, admit guilt. Especially to Techboy. It went against her very nature. "Let's say I had a... psychic vision," she added, a grin threatening to break out on her lips. Carly laughed; sometimes her best friends' banter tended to move onto ridiculous territory. She would just laugh. It made things easier.

Freddie let out a dry chuckle. "Right. And you couldn't bother to tell me about this so-called vision? Thanks a lot, Puckett." She could almost see him rolling his eyes. "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._" He sounded resigned, but there was also an undertone of teasing. Well, look at that, she thought. The dork was getting over her pranks more quickly lately. Maybe he was finally growing a pair.

She let out a huff. "No way! _You_ two are leaving _me_ behind in this godforsaken place," she stated, sounding determined. She also narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at Carly, who was a little surprised to be included in the conversation all of a sudden. "So as far as I'm concerned, if you two want to talk to me, then _you're_ the ones who're gonna have to call me," she finished, her tone leaving no room for argument.

She raised an eyebrow at Carly as if marking her words with an interrogation sign. Carly gave her a half-shrug. Asking her was pointless, really, as Sam already knew she could expect about thirteen calls a day from her. She'd switched to the unlimited minutes plan and everything.

"Yeah, whatever," Freddie grumbled, drawing her attention from Carly and back to the call in progress. Something in his voice made her worry he would launch into one of his 'You should've applied to college' mini-rants, but thankfully he didn't. "I'm gonna go call this guy..." He paused for a second. "...Meck?" he asked, sounding a bit bewildered. "Meck the mechanic? Seriously? Man, where does Spencer get these characters..."

She shrugged, even though she knew Freddie wouldn't be able to see it. "I dunno. Ask him."

"Right," he sighed. She heard a clang and assumed he'd closed the glove compartment. "I'm going to call this guy now, before my Mom has a heart attack. You're paying me back for the new tire, by the way," he added quickly, then hurried on before she could offer any kind of retort. "Tell Carly I'll call her when we get to Boston, okay?"

"No, dork, I won't tell Carly you'll call her when you get to Boston," she replied, just to be contrary. She grinned at Carly, who nodded, receiving the message. Sam pulled the phone away from her ear and put it by her mouth, uttering an overly-chirpy "Laters!" with a stretched L, before flipping it closed over the young man's feeble protests. She laughed once more. He just made it too easy.

Carly spoke as she put the phone down. "You rigged their car so they'd get a flat?" she asked, sounding stern. Maybe a little bit amused. But mostly stern.

Sam leaned back against the red pillow, a satisfied smile coming up on her lips as she put her hands behind her head. "Yep," she admitted, not one ounce of shame tingeing her words. As far as she was concerned, that was a job well done right there.

Carly shook her head, the corners of her mouth crinkling up as the amusement finally caught up with her. "You know, I bet you could do really well in auto repair if you ever tried to use your genius for the betterment of humanity," she suggested, not-so-subtly.

She smirked. "Sorry, kid. I belong to the dark side. Better benefit plan."

Carly chuckled, getting up from her seat. "...Yeah, I'm gonna go tell Spencer we're definitely getting to New York by plane. There's popsicles in he fridge if you want any." She waved toward the kitchen as she walked around the couch, on her way upstairs.

Sam just stretched languidly on the Shays' couch. One successful prank, one flustered Fredward Benson... and now popsicles. Oh yeah, good times.

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**Author's note:** FYI, Meck's full name is Meccus. What? It's a perfectly decent British name... for a low-end mechanic in the middle of Washington. ;)

Anyway, it's my birthday! So I celebrate by posting fic. =3 This'll be a chaptered thing, although it's more like individual vignettes that form a cohesive theme, but still. It should be around 8 or 9 chapters long, plus an interlude somewhere in the middle, and I've already got about about 7 of those written out (which, oddly enough, had never happened before in the whole of my writing experience. How's that for novelty?). Posting should be pretty much uninterrupted; I'm hoping to post about one chapter a week if time allows. This one's the shortest chapter, in case you were wondering. So be sure to tune in for the rest!


	2. Chapter 2

**Your Call**

_Chapter 2_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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Sam signaled the snobbish woman to be quiet and fished her phone out of her apron pocket, flipping it open when she saw it was Freddie calling her. Normally she wouldn't bother answering him when she was in the middle of something, but she kind of hated this job so any interruption was welcome. "Yo."

"Hey," he greeted her. She noticed he sounded a bit agitated. "Is this a bad time?"

She shook her head, dismissing his concern. "Nah, it's fine, I'm at work," she said with a shrug. The woman at the table poked at her arm with an exasperated "_Excuse_ me," which Sam just waved off like she was a particularly annoying mosquito. "Just the usual people asking me to bring them stuff. Better just to ignore them. I mean, it's like, what, can't they do anything by themselves?"

Prissy Princess' boyfriend threw her a befuddled stare as his girl let out a huff and, getting up from her seat, started looking around for someone to complain to. Sam pushed her back down on her chair. "Uh, Sam, you're a waitress," Freddie input. "It's kind of your job to get them everything they ask for."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, more important than my job description is my moral duty not to enable idiotic behavior," she sentenced, deadpan. The woman was glaring daggers at her, but Sam, one hand on her hip and the other holding the phone to her ear, could not be less concerned.

Freddie's tone turned resigned. "You're gonna get fired... _again._" She heard him chuckle dryly. "I guess some people are just not born for the service industry."

"Hey, I am doing them a service," she said, defensive. "Pushing people to do things for themselves is a good thing. It's character building," she added, emphasizing the idea with a finger pointed in the direction of the girl's boyfriend, who was still staring back at her with the same confuzzled expression. "God knows you need to grow a spine, man," she told him, taking her phone away from her face for a moment, then jumped right back into the conversation. "So why'd you call, anyway?"

Freddie sighed. "I thought bullying was supposed to be over after High School," he almost whined.

"Awww, did someone steal your lunch money, Freddieboy?" she laughed. Considering she was the biggest bully in his life, he had probably figured once he was a whole continent away from her, he wouldn't have to deal with that anymore. Unfortunately for him, life was tough, and he was an easy target. "Geez, you're like two weeks into college and your nerdiness is already screwing up your life. You're an extreme case, Benson." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the woman she was supposed to be tending to start calling for the Manager.

"No," he clarified. "It's this jock-type acting student from Slovakia; dumb as a rock. When we were at orientation I accidentally spilled my drink on him and no matter how many times I tried to explain, he either didn't get it or he just refuses to believe me." He sounded frustrated. "I'm beginning to think that maybe he just doesn't understand English, but I'm not sure. I mean, he couldn't have gotten accepted into college if he didn't, right?"

"So, just avoid him," she said, distractedly grabbing a few fries from the boyfriend's plate and popping them in her mouth. The girlfriend once again tried to stand up but a glare from Sam halted her halfway up. She continued screeching for a Manager. "I'm sure it's a big campus," she added, to Freddie.

"I can't," he said, and she thought he might've been shaking his head at Boston, from the sound that came through the phone. "Turns out, he's my next-door neighbor. He lives one dorm down from mine." He let out a groan. "Every time we come face to face in the hallways he pushes me. I still have a bruise from Tuesday."

She snorted. "Okay, you're screwed then."

"No!" he exclaimed, determined. "Come on, Sam. I need your diabolical mind, here. What can I do?"

"What's in it for me?" she asked, noticing that a few of the other waiters were talking among themselves in hurried tones toward the back of the dining hall. Probably deciding which of them would go call the Manager, she guessed. None of them would dare approach her directly; they were all deathly afraid of her.

"Uh... my eternal friendship and devotion?" he suggested, cheekily.

"Plus 50 bucks you'll send to Spencer's address- money order, not cash or check- by no later than next Thursday," she added, without even breaking her stride. Toward the back of the hall, one of her fellow waiters had apparently decided to take the plunge and go get the Manager. She knew him, the little weasel. She'd hated that dude from day one. Princess was still trying to get her wimp of a boyfriend to say something to Sam, and the dude was still completely blanking out from the entire situation. Yeah, someone was definitely going to be sleeping on the couch that night...

"Sam! Come on, I can't pay you 50 bucks for advice," came Freddie's protest through the line. "I'm a fledgling college student, I can't afford to just give out money like that."

"Well, I'm about to be unemployed in like five minutes, so as my eternal, devoted friend, it's your obligation to help me out." And just to make it clear in how much danger she was of losing her job that day, she put the phone away from her ear a moment and addressed the woman seated at the table, who was still screeching at her boyfriend. "Dude, can you shut up for a second? Trying to talk on the phone here," she gave her an exasperated expression and the girl's face went as red as a Christmas ornament.

She heard Freddie groan and took that as an affirmative. "Alright, so here's what you do: leverage. You get something on him, and then threaten him with making it public if he keeps bugging you," she explained, cleanly, taking a few more French fries out of the guy's plate.

"I can't blackmail him. It's a serious offense according to university rules and I could get expelled if he reports me," he explained.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Didn't you just say he's dumb as a rock? He's not going to report you, stupid," she shook her head. "Did you leave your balls here in Seattle or something?"

"Funny," he sentenced, sounding like he thought it was everything but. "There's gotta be another option."

"Well, there's always negotiation, but that's not as fun," she added with a shrug. Screechy lady had apparently gotten fed up, for she screamed "we're outta here!" and got up, dragging her moron of a boyfriend by his sleeve so harshly that he almost toppled over in his chair. Sam, thinking keeping up the intimidation was too energy-consuming, waved them off with a "Good riddance!" and went back to the conversation. "So what you have to do is offer him something that he thinks will be really good for him, in exchange for leaving you alone. Preferably something really nerdy, so he won't get it. Then when he gets nothing out of it, it's not your fault because he just didn't get it, so he'll still have to make good on his promise."

"That's..." at first he sounded like he would oppose the idea, but his tone changed midway through the sentence. "That's _brilliant!_" he finished, somewhat astounded.

"Psh, of course it is," said Sam, very aware that her evil mind often went underappreciated by the world because of silly things like moral values and the law. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Manager intercept her two disgruntled customers at the door, and the woman gesticulated about for a little bit. The word "unacceptable," might've been thrown in here and there. Then the pair left in a hurry.

"And I know exactly what I can give him. I have this Galaxy Wars collector's item that could go for a lot of money but Jost won't be able to sell it because there's no way this guy could ever figure out eBay..." He started muttering to himself, going off into whatever lala-land geeks traveled to when thinking of their techy stuff. She saw the Manager glare at her from the other side of the hall and start stomping toward her. Yeah, took him long enough.

"What are you doing?" the man demanded of her. He was an old dude, half-balding, who tried to seem fancy by dressing up in smart shirts but the effect was ruined by his pot belly, stupid logo belt buckle and his greasy complexion.

Sam turned a bored expression on him without ever taking the phone off her ear. "Ridding this fine establishment of moronic elements that might damage its reputation?" she suggested, emphasizing the words "fine establishment" in a tone that dripped with sarcasm.

The man did not miss it, and turned furious eyes on her. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he said, and Sam had to admit it was possibly the fanciest way she'd been fired so far.

"Eh, don't bother." She brazenly picked one of the ribs that were leftover in wuss boyfriend's plate, and gave it a big bite. "I'm out, anyway." She took off her hideous apron with one hand and threw it in the face of one of the other waiters, who had gathered around the table to watch in perverse fascination. Of course, she figured, it's not like they had any other customers to attend to- this place was a dump.

With a smirk, she started her way out. A few feet away, something occurred to her. "Hey, I still get paid for the week, right?" she asked the Manager. The man went beet red, and simply pointed a finger toward the main entrance. Sam shrugged.

"...Did you just get fired?" came Freddie's question through the phone. At her affirmative, he sighed. "Sam... you can't go on with this string of dead-end jobs," he told her, and she knew the lecture so well by now (she'd already heard it a thousand times from Carly), she could almost imitate him as he spoke. "You have to stick to something and commit."

"Meh, it was a crappy attempt at a restaurant. Full of idiots, anyway," she defended her actions. Honestly, some people were just begging to be insulted; it wasn't her fault she gave them what they wanted. "Oh, and their ribs _suck!_" she raised her voice so that the group of morons behind her could hear her loud and clear. Then nibbled on the rib she had in her hand some more.

A flat screen attached to the wall caught her eye and she all but ran until she was in front of it. "Dude, dudedudedude! You have to put on ESPN, now!" she told Freddie with some urgency. An MMA fight was on screen, and she just had to stop and watch. "Sledgehammer Curtis is beating the shit outta Harlan McFinn! You _have_ to see this!"

"What? Why didn't I know of this?" Freddie wondered out loud.

"Because you're hopeless without me, obviously," she let him know, modest as usual. "Now would you hurry up?"

"Okay, okay, I think they have a TV in the student building..." She gathered he'd been walking to his dorm from that. He entered someplace- she knew because she heard that annoying ding some shops had on the door to signal when someone came in. Then she heard him speak to someone, possibly asking if he could switch channels on the TV. A few seconds of silence later and he shuffled back to the conversation. "Oh my God! That is _brutal!_"

"I know, right?" she was so hyped up, she was practically jumping up and down in excitement. "It's freakin' awesome!"

For the next few minutes they exchanged no further talk except for simultaneous groans of sympathy pain whenever McFinn ended up on the ground, simultaneous cheers to Sledgehammer whenever blood was drawn, and simultaneous exclamations of impatience whenever the referee came to interrupt the proceedings. Sam had to smile. Mixed Martial Arts: Bringing people together through violence and gore since the dawn of television. Even so-called frienemies.

The little brown-noser who had called the Manager earlier came up to her, probably to tell her getting fired meant she had to get out of the place ASAP. As he was a few feet away, she mock-lunged at him. He screamed like a little girl and almost jumped until there was a table safely between them. Sam smirked and went right back to screaming with Freddie; McFinn seemed like he was about to start crying and there was no way she was missing that.

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**Author's notes!-**

For those who are curious, Freddie goes to Emerson College in Boston. It's a communication/arts university, and he's majoring in Media Production. Carly went to New York... I'm thinking NYU or Columbia, although I haven't given much thought to what she'd be majoring in. Something media-ish, I guess. Sam stayed in Seattle, is not in school, and has been working.

Look, I'm sticking to a schedule! How awesome is this? =D I can tell you with great satisfaction that I've already finished writing this in its entirety. 9 chapters plus one interlude, so hopefully you'll all stick with me here! Anyway, hope you liked this. Next chapter coming up next Thursday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Your Call**

_Chapter 3_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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The first time Sam Puckett called Freddie Benson, it was four in the morning, she was freakin' _pissed_, and she only called _him_ because she didn't want to freak Carly out.

She didn't know what it was that really prompted her to reach for her cell phone after spending all day ignoring it; all she knew was that she'd spent eighteen hours in this stupid, cramped bus, she hadn't been able to sleep at all because she was just so _angry_, and more than that, she was sick and tired of seeing mountains everywhere she looked. The next time she heard someone say how "picturesque" rural America was, she was going to punch that person. "Picturesque" was not the word she'd use to describe the number of small towns they'd passed by- "boring" would be more like it. Each one was blander than the other, and she was in no mood to appreciate the scenery. Not that she ever was, of course, but much less that day.

Thankfully the seat next to hers was empty. If she was this bothered by the landscape, she didn't even want to think how badly she would've chewed up any person sitting next to her if they attempted to get chatty. It would not have been pretty.

It had been almost automatic, if she had to be honest. When she flipped open the phone's lid and saw fourteen missed calls from Carly Shay, she leaned back against the window and perused her list of contacts until the cursor fell on the colorful nickname she'd assigned to Freddie. One twitch of her thumb later, and she was calling him.

The phone rang about four times before there was any answer, and when there was, it was mostly shuffling until finally a groggy voice came through the speaker. "Who died?" was the first thing he said. Not much of a greeting, but she guessed it could pass for one at that hour of the morning. It was around six for him, wasn't it? And his voice was so husky, it was a miracle he could speak at all with such a dry throat.

No matter how out of it she was, she simply couldn't pass up an opportunity to insult him. It was an involuntary reaction. "The squirrel that got stuck in your throat, apparently," she shot back, feeling none of the usual amusement she felt when she engaged him in verbal banter.

She heard him clear his throat once, twice, and finally he was back in the conversation. "Look, if you just called to insult me, then this can wait until later. I have finals coming up and I have to get a good night's rest, so if you would just-"

A grunt from her interrupted his tirade. "Fuck it. I'm just... I'm sick of this shit." She closed her eyes and shook her head, still struggling to keep her temper in check.

"...Of squirrels getting stuck in my throat?" he asked, and his voice was a little muffled, like he'd fallen back on his pillow and was speaking into it. Obviously, he wasn't very quick on the intake at 6 am... not that he was much better during waking hours.

"No," she sighed, the hand that wasn't holding the phone to her ear pinching the bridge of her nose. "My mom. My life... Seattle."

There was a pause on his end and the next time he spoke, his voice came through much more clearly, like he'd sat up. Apparently her words had made some sort of impact in him, because his tone was much softer than usual and somewhat hesitant when he asked: "Hey... are you okay...?"

"No, genius," she snapped at him before she could stop herself. So much for keeping her temper in check, but it was just Freddie, so she didn't fret too much about it. "I'm calling you at four in the morning from somewhere in Montana, does it sound like I'm okay?"

Now _that_ woke him up. "_Montana?_" There was a pause, and then the pretty much required: "Sam, what did you do?"

"Nothing! Dude!" she groaned. Alright, so she didn't have the best track record of doing the "right" thing, but that didn't mean everybody always had to assume the worst of her, did it?

"Well, if you won't tell me what the hell you're doing _in Montana_ then what am I supposed to think?" he retorted, somewhere in between worried and defensive.

"Look, it's no big deal," she started, gruffly. "Pam came in at like eight in the morning, drunk off her ass, and started yelling at me the moment she set one foot inside the apartment. I wasn't gonna take it anymore, so I grabbed all my shit, got out of there and bought a Greyhound ticket to Chicago." She added an offhand shrug at the end, which he couldn't see, but it was her way of telling herself she didn't care. The whole situation had made her angry, but she wasn't hurt. She knew better than to expect anything from her mother by now. It couldn't hurt her. She wouldn't let it.

Or so she wanted to believe.

"_Not a big deal?_" was his response. Utter disbelief in his voice, as she expected. "You're moving to Chicago and it's _not a big deal?_"

"Dude, you've gotta stop repeating everything I say, it's getting annoying," she interjected, deadpan.

"Have you thought this through?" he asked her immediately, completely ignoring her previous quip. There was a pause and a shuffle. "What am I saying, of course you haven't. Sam, you're moving to another city. This isn't like spending the night at Carly's, alright? You can't just up and leave your home on a whim. And to a city you don't know? What are you going to do when you get there? Where are you going to _live?_ Do you even have any money?"

"Geez. Relax, _Marissa_," she interrupted his rant before he could think to ask if she had enough clean underwear. She appreciated the concern, but that's not what she needed right then. "I'm not completely stupid, you know? I have some money saved up. As for where I'm gonna live, Melanie lives in Chicago. I'll room with her, get a job. We'll see how things go from there." She shifted in her seat, trying to get a little more comfortable; her butt was falling asleep again. "Is that enough of a plan for you?"

She could almost see the tension leave his shoulders. "Yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to be harsh. I'm just worried."

She decided to give him a pass on the mandatory teasing, but just this once, and only because she had a headache. "Yeah. Guess I would be, too."

"Have you talked to Carly?" he asked, apparently deciding to carry on with the topic of people who had a right to recriminate her for daring to go AWOL for one entire day. "She's worried about you. She even called me to ask if I knew where you were." He paused and chuckled, as if he was just now realizing how ludicrous her calling him was. She'd seen the irony of it, herself. "You have to tell her about this, you know."

"I know. I saw her missed calls," she admitted. "I didn't want to freak her out. But I'll call her to explain everything when I get to Chicago."

Once again she leaned her head back against the window, eyes closed. She was so tired. The silence stretched on, but she knew he hadn't hung up. For a while she wondered if he'd fallen asleep, but then she heard him clear his throat again on the other side of the line.

"...Freddie?" Part of her let out a mental curse for using his actual name instead of some witty nickname, but the word was out of her lips before she could stop it. She had a feeling _that_, more than anything else, revealed the truth about her current state of mind- both to him and to herself. She felt so out of balance.

His only reply was a deep, sleepy hum and she didn't even know what she wanted to say anyway. And she didn't want to think about why it mattered that someone was there, on the other side of the line, listening. That _he_ was listening. "...Talk to me?" The words came in a sigh, a whisper that she didn't want to admit to herself she had uttered, and she half-hoped he hadn't heard it.

But he had. "About what?" he replied with barely any hesitation, and all of a sudden she was struck with how open this conversation had become. It kind of scared her.

"Anything."

He was silent for a few seconds, and she heard a creak in the background- he was probably sitting up on his bed. Then he took a breath. "So, I bought a new laptop last week." She would never admit it, but she was glad he hadn't blown off her request. She had heard his comment about having to rest for finals, but figured if he wasn't bothered by it, she wasn't about to bring it up, either.

She smirked. "Gosh, Fredbot, you haven't been at college for one whole semester and your Pearbook already isn't enough for you? Tech Nazi."

Too easily they fell back on their routine of Freddie bringing up nerdy topics and her mocking him for it, and she was grateful for that. He was right: she had taken a huge step today- whether forward or backward, and at the moment that was more change than she could take in one day. She needed to know at least one thing would never change. She basked in the familiarity of their banter; it made her feel better, more herself.

Yet she couldn't help but feel there was something different about this conversation. Maybe it was the fact that it was four (six) in the morning and everybody around them was asleep, yet there they were, more than at ease talking about some dorky video game or whether smoked or honeyed ham was better. Or maybe it was that, against all laws of the universe, it was Fredward Benson, of all people, who was giving her exactly what she needed at that moment.

It was almost two hours later that the conversation got sidetracked by her cell phone beeping that its battery was about to give out. She hadn't realized how long they'd been talking; she'd been half falling asleep anyway, replying mostly in monosyllables for the last fifteen minutes or so, and his words were getting more and more slurred by the second, too, but neither of them had felt the inclination to hang up at any point.

She took the moment as she felt the bus slow down- there was a stop at Billings. She stretched her arms as best as she could within the cramped seat. "Hey, my phone's dying and I've got to transfer buses, so I'm just gonna go now." She rubbed at her eyes to clear the sleepiness. She wondered absentmindedly how many Fat Cakes she still had left in her backpack; she couldn't remember how many of them she'd put in, but she was hungry. Maybe she'd go and buy something else to eat while she waited for her transfer.

It took him a little bit to reply; he was probably shaking himself out of his somnolent stupor. "Oh, right," he said, like it had only just hit him that they'd have to stop talking eventually. "Well..." He coughed. "Call me during your next transfer, okay?"

She snorted, just to be contrary. "Yeah, right. I wouldn't wait by the phone if I were you." Their friendship might've shifted in some indiscernible way that night, but that didn't mean she was going to give him any leeway.

She was sure he had rolled his eyes, even though she couldn't see him. She was so used to that reaction. "Fine, then _I'll_ call you," he told her, attempting to sound grudging but she could hear some amusement in his tone. Then he paused, just a little bit. "Sam, just... please be careful?"

She felt something tug at her when he asked her that, but she shrugged it off. As she always did. "Alright, you mother hen!" She laughed, picking up her bag and standing up, following the line of people who were waiting to get off the bus. "Now go back to sleep or something. I gotta go."

He let out a deep, throaty groan that once again was somewhat muffled- she figured he had put his pillow on top of his face. "I wish! I've got class in like an hour," he said, almost a whine. Suddenly waking up at ungodly hours of the night just to talk about nothing didn't seem so glamorous, huh?

"Well, then get off your lazy butt, Benson!" She laughed at him. "Geez, what _have_ you been doing all night that's got you so tired?" She heard him chuckle on the other end of the line, but she gave him no time to reply. "Whatever, I'm going now. See ya." She flipped her phone closed and put it in her backpack as she moved toward the exit.

She was finally able to get some sleep on the next leg of the trip, thank goodness. When she got off the bus at Dickinson to buy some lunch, she took a moment to send him a text message. _Thanks dork._ She didn't expect a reply, as he was probably in class at that hour, but about a minute later she got a text back from him.

_:)_

She was completely unaware that she was smiling as she re-entered the bus.

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**Author's notes!-**

If anyone cares, this was the first chapter I wrote for this fic. It's definitely my favorite chapter in this fic. Yeah. This is where things start to get _interesting_. ;)

No offense to people in Montana or the rest of "rural America," BTW. Sam's just grumpy. I've never really been to the Western States, let alone the northwest, and in the Midwest only as far as Nebraska, so I wouldn't be able to give an opinion anyway.

For the record, Sam's Greyhound schedule meant left Seattle at 10:40 am, and reached Chicago at 9:45 am two days two days later, for a total of 1 day and 21 and a half hours on the road. The stop/transfer at Billings, MT happens at around 5:45 am the day after she first got on the bus. The stop at Dickinson, ND at about noon the same day, for about half an hour. There are three bus transfers total. Yes, I checked. Because I'm a big nerd like that. xD

Next chapter coming up next week! Toodles!


	4. Chapter 4

**Your Call**

_Chapter 4_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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She'd been in the parking lot in front of the building, honking loudly for the whole campus to hear, for the last 15 minutes before someone was curious enough to come see what all the noise was about.

Sam eyed the redhead warily. The girl was tall- at least a good six inches taller than her, she would guess- and stick thin. As in "someone please get this girl a good burger, stat!" stick thin. Her hair was short, frizzy but pulled back with pastel-colored hair clips, and her face was covered in freckles. She was dressed in a yellow summer dress, a cutesy white cardigan, and sandals. She reminded Sam of a cartoon character. "Hi. Um, if you could please stop honking, that would be great. It's still early and most of the students are trying to get some sleep." Sam glared at her, ready to tell this girl where she could put her _sleep_ while imitating the squeaky tone of her voice, but the redhead continued speaking before she had the chance. "Are you looking for someone?"

Sam rested her forearms on the edge of the window and looked up at the girl, annoyed. "Yeah, a guy named Fredward Benson. Can you tell me which dorm he's in?" she asked, tone clipped. She wasn't one for public relations and she wished she didn't have to look for the nub all over campus. Of course, she could've called him when she was on the road to let him know she was coming over and ask him to wait for her, but that would've required, you know, _calling_ him, and she wasn't about to do that.

The girl's head turned slightly to one side as she thought about it. "Oh, you mean Freddie?" She raised one finger to her glossed lips as she thought about it, and Sam could not believe this Polly Pocket wannabe was for real. Seriously, who ever used that pose naturally? "Yes, he's in 324. But I don't think he's in right now; he has a class at eight on Thursdays."

Sam raised an eyebrow at her, intrigued. She knew Freddie's schedule? Interesting. "Is it an urgent matter?" the girl asked.

Sam rolled her eyes. No, she'd spent the last 15 minutes honking outside his residence hall just for kicks. "Yes, it's urgent," she deadpanned.

The girl gave her a sweet smile. Sam's bored expression didn't change. "Well, he's probably on his way back by now," she told her, looking down at the white wristwatch on her hand, which most likely said it was around nine am. "Oh, I know! I'll just call him." She looked in her black-and-white purse and pulled out a Pearphone, encased in a light blue, swirly, padded skin.

Sam got out of the car as she dialed, coming to stand beside the girl. She put the phone to her ear and a couple of seconds later, got an answer. "Freddie? Hi, it's Mary." She paused to hear his reply, then giggled. Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, good. Oh, really? That's great to hear." She nodded a couple of times and mmhmm-ed to a few things he said, and Sam was starting to get impatient. "Right. Well, listen, there's a girl here at Little who's looking for you, she says it's urgent-"

Sam had no qualms about roughly grabbing the phone from her (the girl immediately let out a "Hey!") and butting into the conversation. "Gosh, Fredstooge, would you stop flirting with Pippi Longstocking here and hurry up?" she demanded, harshly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mary gasp at her, probably offended. Good.

"_Sam?_" came Freddie's incredulous tone from the other end of the line. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for _you_, so if you would please _move it_, that would be good." She huffed, taking the arm that wasn't holding the phone to her hip. "We gotta get going, _now_."

"What? Go where?" he asked.

Sam groaned. Was he going to put up a fight? She knew he wasn't the spontaneous type, no matter what he said. "Just get your butt over here, will you? I'll tell you when I see you."

She touched the screen to disconnect the call before he could say anything else, and handed the phone back to Mary without a word. The redhead was still slack-jawed at Sam's cojones in taking her phone without permission, and Sam was feeling evil that day. She smirked. "You're not his type, you know," she told the other girl, crossing her arms. "Ask your daddy to buy you a better rack, and _maybe_ you'll have a shot."

Mary scowled at her, and promptly turned around, walking back into the building in an almost stomping manner. Sam literally patted herself on the shoulder for a job well done.

She got back inside her sister's car, turned the A/C on to the max, and reclined the driver's seat so she could rest her eyes while she waited for Freddie. She'd been driving all night, but she had been so worried the adrenaline had pretty much carried her through. It was only now that she realized how tired she really was.

Life in Chicago had been good for Sam. Initially, she'd thought living with her twin sister would be a trial, but as it turned out, it wasn't so bad. Melanie spent most of her time at college anyway, so they often only saw each other at night, which cut a lot of opportunities for disagreement. Mel was such a sweet person that she was generally non-confrontational, and apparently she had matured enough not to try and change Sam: while she still disapproved of some of the things Sam did, she no longer tried to suggest them going shopping, or going to the ballet, or getting pedicures together. So long as she kept up her share of the rent and her chores, mostly she just let her be. As for Sam, she had matured enough not to gag every time her sister did anything goody-goody. It was still weird to her that someone who looked exactly like her could be so _good_, but she was learning to get over it.

She'd gotten her job quite by accident. Melanie asked her once to stop by the gym to pay for her membership, because she was so stumped with finals. She grudgingly agreed, and while she was there, somewhat awed by the amount of people who would actually _pay_ to suffer through exercise day in and day out, someone pushed her out of the way while she was in line. Being already irritated, she couldn't hold herself in check and she proceeded to yell at this person- a 40-something lady with a little too much "help" in the body proportions department- in front of the entire gym. She _might've_ mentioned something about using exercise as a crutch because everything else in her life sucked but she wasn't even doing that right. The woman had only gaped at her, demanded that the receptionist call security on her, and went back to the sit-ups with a vengeance.

Sam was whisked away to the Manager's office and just as she thought she was going to get kicked out of the place, she was offered a job instead. They'd been looking for someone to round up their team of trainers, a sort of good cop/bad cop routine. She was the bad cop in this analogy, of course. She wouldn't actually be required to do the exercise routines, her role was more that of a "motivator" or a "coach" than an actual trainer. It seemed some people responded better to negative input than they did to positive. Hey, apparently you _can_ catch some of those silly bees with vinegar.

She jumped right on it, of course. Because seriously, getting paid to yell at stupid people all day, _and_ with a flexible schedule? The only thing that could be better in her book would be working as a product taster in a Fat Cakes factory.

So yeah, life was good. Carly still called her every day, and Freddie called her every once in a while. She'd made some new friends, too. There was always something to do in that city. She liked going to the Cubs' games in particular (apparently she liked rooting for the underdog). Oh, and the food was great. That deep-dish pizza was a genius idea, as far as she was concerned.

So maybe she'd gotten a little bit spoiled by the good life. Which is why, when she received a call from a sobbing Carly the previous afternoon, she'd been on her feet and out the door, Melanie's car keys in hand, within the hour.

A knock on her window interrupted her thoughts, and she lowered it to find Freddie, still carrying his school bag, looking down at her with an annoyed expression. "This is crazy. Do you even have a driver's license?" he asked her. No use beating around the bush.

She let out a "pshh," and shrugged. "I've had one since I was thirteen."

"I meant a _real_, _legal_ driver's license," he clarified, with a glare.

She brushed off his concerns. "Details." He was funny, emphasizing the word "legal" like it was supposed to mean something to her. She rolled her eyes. "Now would you quit your whining and just get in?" She waved insistently toward the passenger side.

He scowled. "No. I can't go anywhere." He crossed his arms, defiant. "I have lab in the afternoon, which I can't miss, and anyway you can't just show up here without a warning and expect me to drop everything like you're the queen of the world-"

"We're going to New York," she sentenced.

That effectively stopped his protests. "...Carly?" he asked with a small gasp, instantly concerned.

"She needs us," she said, earnest.

He fisted his hand around the strap of his book bag, and nodded. "Alright. I'll go pack some stuff." He turned and walked toward the building, pace as hurried as he could make it.

She poked her head out the window. "If you had told me your dorm number, I would've done that already!" she yelled after him, smirking. She was still handy with a bobby pin. And she knew dorm locks were low budget and low quality.

"If you had called me before you got here, I would've told you!" he shot back.

She threw him a curious look. "Really?"

"No!"

She shook her head and laughed to herself.

He came down a few minutes later to find her on her feet, leaning against the car. He opened the driver's side door without even asking her. "Keys," he requested, stretching out his hand so she could pass them to him. Contrary to popular belief, Freddie did have a driver's license- despite the fact that his mother was paranoid about car accidents, he had convinced her to let him take the test, in case there was ever an emergency. They just hadn't come across a Marissa-approved emergency yet. Was he going to disobey his Mommy now?

She quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning. He sighed. "You look dead on your feet. I, on the other hand, had a full night's sleep. I'm not letting you get us killed on the highway, so I'm driving."

Normally she would protest, but she was really, really tired, so she simply dragged her feet around the car and curled up in the passenger's seat. As he sat down and starting adjusting chair, mirrors and radio station, he paused. "Wait. You didn't... steal this car, did you?" he asked her, apprehensive.

She let out a side punch to his arm (he let out an "owww!") and rolled her eyes at him. "It's Melanie's. Now would you just get going?"

She explained Carly's situation to him as they got on the road. She tried calling her best friend and got no answer, which was unusual to say the least. It was actually the second of Sam's calls that went ignored since she left Chicago. This prompted him to agree with her: they had to go and be with her right now. Sam was asleep before they left the city, those dorky 80's beats he liked so much thumping in the back of her head as she rested for most of the four-hour drive.

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**Author's notes!-**

I... have no idea what's supposed to be wrong with Carly here. Initially I thought "ah, boyfriend broke up with her." But then I started thinking that was too superficial to warrant seventeen plus four hours on the road. So then I thought "ah, boyfriend died," but then that made me sad because I don't want Carly to go through that, so instead I decided to just leave it ambiguous. Carly isn't really the focus of this, anyway. So basically you choose whatever you prefer.

BTW, before you tell me there was no phone call in this chapter, yes, I am counting Sam grabbing Mary's phone as she was speaking with Freddie as a phone call. And in case anyone's wondering, I do not own Polly Pocket (nor have I ever owned anything from that brand, even when I was a little kid), which is by Mattel IIRC, or Pippi Longstocking, which was created by Astrid Lindgren. Although I do think Pippi rocks socks, if I may be allowed the terrible pun.

The Little building is an actual residence hall at Emerson, and it seems ironically it's quite a large building. It's named after the dude who financed the construction. I've never been there, but Wikipedia has been more than helpful on these matters.

Hope you're all still sticking with me here! Next chapter will be up next Thursday, and it's a LONG one, BTW!


	5. Chapter 5

**Your Call**

_Chapter 5_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:**Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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Technically, she wasn't calling him- she was texting him. That totally didn't count.

She spun the desk chair she was on in lazy circles as she pressed the buttons, forming words on her screen. She smirked as she finished writing, hitting "send" before her phone could inform her she'd misspelled more than one word. Honestly, sometimes she thought her phone was secretly an 80-year-old retired schoolteacher or something. Who cared about spelling?

_hey whuts the capital of norwegia?_

His reply didn't come via text message, though, but through a call. She was momentarily startled by the fast-paced guitar chords of her favorite power metal song blaring out of the phone speakers, but soon enough she was headbanging along with the rhythm. She'd chosen that song as a ringtone precisely because it always made her want to burst into some good old random dancing (Awwww. Man, she really missed that stupid web show), and it annoyed her callers that it would take her so long to pick up, because she was too busy jumping around. Annoying other people was certainly a bonus.

Unfortunately her current location did not allow for much outrageous dancing. The room was really, really small- almost ridiculously so. If she really wanted to dance she could've jumped on the bed, probably, but as the owner was currently off getting her some snacks, she thought for once she shouldn't do anything that could jeopardize that. She really wanted snacks, dammit. So instead, she picked up the phone earlier than she normally would. "Heeeeeeeeere's Sammy!" she quipped as she put the phone to her ear.

She half expected him to complain that no, texting totally _did _count. He didn't, though. "It's Norway," was the first thing she heard from him.

"The capital of Norwegia is Norway?" she asked, frowning in her befuddlement. Seriously? "Well, let me tell you, those Norwegians sure aren't winning any contests for originality."

He sighed, and proceeded to explain in a tone someone would use to explain to a three year old why a bunny is different from a mouse. "No. Norway's what the _country's_ called, not Norwegia." He paused to let out an odd chuckle, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or groan. "And the capital of Norway is Oslo," he added, just to relay the complete message.

She scooted her chair closer to the desk, pulled a notebook out of one drawer- noticing the notebook was completely blank- and ripped out a page. When she looked for a pencil she couldn't find one, and it figured; as it was, she was stupefied that this guy even had a desk at all, but now she knew it had probably gone unused for quite a while. So instead she went to her bag and pulled out an eyeliner pencil, using that to write down the information. "Oslo. Got it."

"Why do you need to know that, anyway?" he asked, curious.

Sam had to admit she didn't normally bother with geography, but this time it was for a good cause. Namely, her stomach. "I bet this really stupid actor dude three days worth of pizza for dinner that I could prove I was smarter than him," she explained, putting the cap on the eyeliner pencil and folding the piece of paper so that she could put it in her jeans' pocket. She hoped it wouldn't smudge, but whatever.

"Uh..." he started, hesitant. "You _do _know that asking me for the answer is probably cheating, right?"

She snorted. It was kind of touching (and very, very hilarious) that he would ever think she had anything in particular against cheating, after knowing her for so many years. However, this time she was going to have to prove him wrong. "Actually, it's not cheating at all," she explained, as she put the pencil back in her bag. "It's just another way for me to prove that I'm smarter. The dude's so dumb, he doesn't even know how to use his smartphone."

He laughed. "I pity the poor guy, for trying to go up against you."

"Yeah, you sure learned _that_ lesson the hard way," she let him know, amused as she remembered a few particular incidents. Truth be told in their history of lost bets they were actually pretty even, but nobody could beat her when it came to mind games. Manipulative was her middle name.

"So, who is this poor sap? A coworker?" he asked.

She got up for a second so she could actually sit on the chair correctly, then leaned it back as she put her feet up on the desk. She dodged his question like he hadn't even spoken. "Say, when are you going to make it back to your place?"

"Eh," that was a verbal shrug if she ever heard one. "Fifteen minutes or so? I'm on my way back, I was just dropping off my..." She could almost hear a _ding _from the other end of the line when her question finally caught up with him. "Wait... how do you know I'm not at my place right now?"

"Oh, 'cause I'm at your next door neighbor's," she said, in a springy tone like she was just commenting on the weather. Right at that moment the door opened, and Jost peeked his head in, showing her a six pack of Peppy Cola and a mega-sized bag of Cheese Puffs. She gave him a thumbs up, and tried hard not to laugh at the dead silence coming from her phone. "Helloooo?"

"You're at..." He cut himself off roughly. "You're in _Boston_?"

She stifled a giggle. "Oh, right, I probably should've started with that. Hi, Fredloser! I'm in town! What up?" Oh man, she wished she could see his face right at that point. What she wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall to witness that. It must've been priceless.

"_Sam!_" came the oh-so-familiar exclamation. Ah, she had missed the utter shock and disbelief his voice could carry. She would have to play a prank on him over the weekend, so she could hear it in person. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to go back to Seattle with Carly and Melanie!"

"I was," she started to explain, matter-of-factly. "But Mel kept insisting that I go back and visit Mom, and I really don't want to, so I snuck out before dawn and drove here. They should already be landing in Seattle and thinking I'm on my way to Vermont to get me some true maple syrup." She smirked, proud of the collective deception she had pulled.

"Only _you_ would do something like that to your best friend and your sister," he muttered, but it came clear as water through the phone speaker. "And you're at Jost's, you said?" Sam took one look at the bulky, overtanned Slav who was currently crawling on the floor in search of a bowl to put the Cheese Puffs in, and hummed her assent. "Well, stay there. I'm on my way. _Don't move._"

She narrowed her eyes. If he were in front of her, he'd be on the receiving end of a heavy death glare and possibly a Texas wedgie. "One, _you _don't tell me what to do," she started, her tone leaving no room for arguments of any kind. "And two..." she shrugged. "I would stay here either way. This guy owes me pizza!"

Freddie groaned over the phone, and Jost looked up at her with a clueless expression. She had to laugh.

Twelve minutes later, Freddie made it to Jost's dorm room and leaned against the doorframe as Sam and Jost finished one last round of Fatal Konflict. Sam could see a small, lopsided smile on his lips as he watched her repeatedly jump up and down, waving her controller around as she screamed "FATALITYYYYYY!". Jost let out a whine which she guessed was a stretched-out "no" in Croatian, or Serbian, or whatever language it was that he spoke. It was all the same to her, anyway.

When the sounds of brutality and carnage finally died down, both blondes turned to the newcomer. "Yo, Fredster! Took you long enough." She handed Jost her controller and with a quick "you need more practice, dude," picked up her bag and walked to the door, giving her host for the last three hours a backwards wave. She walked past Freddie, bumping his arm with her shoulder, and left the dorm room.

Freddie was about to follow her when he heard Jost call out to him. "Dude!" the actor-wannabe exclaimed, his accent making the U stretch out in a funny way. "Your girlfriend is awesome!" She didn't miss the exclamation- Freddie's dorm _was _just next door and the sound carried down the hallway. But for some reason she pretended not to hear; she was interested in seeing Freddie's reaction to the comment. She wanted to see if he would still let out that kiddy "ewwww!" like he used to when they were little.

He didn't. Instead, he frowned, as if the idea sounded completely foreign to his ears. "She's not my girlfriend," he told his neighbor, the words somewhat flaky to say the least. He turned to walk to his dorm, paused, then shook his head, as if shaking out unwanted thoughts. Then he started walking toward his own room, once again.

"Move it, slowpoke," she told him, shelving the reaction in the back of her mind. Maybe she could get some blackmail material out of it, she contemplated as he fished his keys out of his pocket. "Hey, where's your mother? I thought she was spending Thanksgiving here with you."

"I dropped her off at her hotel," he explained as he opened the door and let her through. "I was just walking out when you called me. She'll come by tomorrow, we're going out for dinner."

She nodded as he grabbed his remote control and turned the TV on. "Sweet! That means I can crash here!" She dropped her bag with a dull THUD on the floor, and immediately started taking off her sneakers. Freddie's dorm looked a lot like Jost's, except it was much cleaner and, you know, had books and stuff. "Oh, I should've just broken in. I thought you'd have your stupid Nug Nug boxers thrown around on the floor or something, but you don't," she said as she looked around. She shrugged. "Eh. At least I got some Cheese Puffs for my restraint."

He chose to ignore that part about her breaking in, that other part about the Nug Nug boxers, and most of all that bit about her having any kind of restraint. Instead, he hung onto her first comment. "Sam! You can't stay here. I barely have enough room for myself as it is. I don't even have a couch!"

"So? You have a bed, a bathroom and a mini-fridge. That's all I need," she crouched down to search her bag for her toothpaste and toothbrush. She slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her before he could put in anymore protests. She brushed her teeth quickly, using some of his mouthwash to finish off- it probably had many more hygienic properties than she could even imagine, but she could care less about the product's sales pitch as long as it tasted nice and minty. When she was done with this, she quickly dried everything off and poked the door open just a tad. "Hey, could you lend me some of your clothes to sleep in? I forgot to pack my sleepwear."

He rewarded her with a glare. "You know, it's still early. We could still get you settled in a motel or something." Yep, that was Freddie, persistent to the end. Interestingly enough, though he was complaining as far as his words were concerned, he still walked around the bed to his drawers, to look for something for her to wear. He seemed to be taking his time choosing. Smart boy; of course she was very likely never going to give his clothes back to him.

"I don't have that much money. I spent it all on gas," she let him know, as she opened the door just a little bit more, and leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. "Or are you offering to pay for my room?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. You'd never pay me back," he sentenced. Finally he decided on a pair of plaid boxers he didn't even like, and the oldest t-shirt he had at hand.

He walked around the bed again, and handed her the apparel. She swiped it from his hand harshly. "Exactly. So I'm staying here. Glad we agree on this!" She threw a fake-chirpy smile his way, then spun swiftly on her heel and once again closed the bathroom door right on his face, before he could say anything else.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she saw that he hadn't moved an inch: he was still standing very near the bathroom door, looking down, jaw tense. She decided to ignore it and, throwing her day clothes in a pile over her bag, she simply crawled into the bed and wrapped herself in the covers. He took a glance at her out of the corner of his eye and sighed. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

She groaned. How could he still insist? Not for the first time, his stubbornness made her want to punch him. "Jesus, Benson. Man up, will ya? It's just sharing a bed. It's nothing. We're not thirteen anymore."

"That's what I'm worried about," he muttered, though she still managed to catch it, mainly because he had turned toward her and she could see him as he spoke.

She rolled her eyes at him and pushed the covers down to her waist in frustration. "Look: I promise I will contain my animalistic desire for your body through the night, okay?" And dear God, that was the moment cynicism reached its peak point; perfect, pure disdain in just one sentence. He glared at her, and she glared right back at him. "Now, I know it's too early for you to go to sleep, but I had to drive seventeen hours to get here and I am damn tired. I don't want you walking around while I'm asleep because this room is so tiny you might trip on something and wake me up, so you're just going to have to get in here, and go to sleep." She patted the pillow she was not using a little bit more roughly than necessary. "Capisce?"

"Fine!" he exclaimed, and marched into the bathroom to change. It was his turn to slam the door behind him, but she'd let him have his tantrum so long as he was quick about it; she needed her beauty sleep.

Soon enough he was back out and sliding into bed beside her, clad in pajama pants and a white "Einstein is relative" t-shirt (she had to remember to mock him about that one later). He propped his pillow against the wall at the head of the bed and sat against it instead of laying down, and she just knew he was trying to keep a respectable distance between them, the nub. Right, so sleeping in a barely Queen-sized bed with the world's biggest geek wasn't high on her list of things she had to do before she died, but she could at least not make it seem like she had a stick up her ass while she did. He didn't have to act like she had cooties or something.

She briefly contemplated making a bogus move on him, just to be annoying, but...

All of a sudden, he tensed up. Majorly. "No no no, Sam, you can't stay here." She pushed herself up on her elbows and threw him an exasperated glare. What now? She swore to God, now she had him at arm's length, she _would_ strangle him... "My mom is going to come knocking at that door at six am sharp." Oh yes, the threat of impending doom via Marissa Benson. Cue shudders.

She gave him her usual Sam Is Bored (tm) expression for all of two seconds, then she shrugged. "Great!" And with that interjection, she decided to go with her usual plan of action: "do now, think later," as she inched herself closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his torso. Just as if they did this every day.

He almost jumped out of his skin. "Sam! What is- You said- what are you doing?" he spluttered.

"Giving your Mommy something that'll _really _freak her out," she replied in a mischievous tone. Honestly, she had only done that to annoy him, but now that she found herself in that position, she was kind of astounded at the fact that it was actually not as weird as she would've expected it to be. His t-shirt smelled like baby talc, which she guessed was a scent that fit him in a way.

"That's not funny!" She imagined if he had had some more space, he would've gesticulated wildly, or put his face in his hands or similar. As it was, she was draped all over him and he barely had enough space to keep his hands to his sides, making sure he wasn't actually touching her in any way that wasn't of her own making.

She sighed. Okay, she was officially tired of this back-and-forth thing. She couldn't exactly look at him in this position, but her mouth was close enough to his ear that she didn't need to. "Listen," she started, and if her thumb just happened to be rubbing in circles against his side, she didn't acknowledge it. "If you _really _feel so uncomfortable about this, I'll just go. I can find somewhere else to stay. Hey, maybe Jost will let me stay with him for the rest of the break. He's already promised to feed me, after all."

He remained silent, and after a couple of heartbeats she was about to ask him if he'd heard her when she felt one of his arms wrap around her waist. "No. This is fine. It's only three days, anyway." There was something sort of... clipped about his voice as he said this. He slid himself downward on the bed until he was lying on top of his pillow. "I'll figure out what to do with Mom later." She waited until he'd settled down before snuggling in again. She didn't pause to look at his expression, and didn't even want to imagine her own. All she knew was that she was tired, he was warm and his shoulder made a good pillow.

He turned very slightly to side so he could wrap his other arm around her waist, as well, and rested his face against her blonde hair. She snuck one of her legs in between his and breathed in deep, already starting to drift off. "Hey, what are you going to do all day tomorrow? I have to be with Mom so I can't exactly show you around," he reminded her.

She wasn't the slightest bit worried. "Just tell me what there is to do in this town," she started, her words coming out mumbled because of sleep and because her cheek was pressed against his chest, "and I'll make my way around. I'm a big girl."

He chuckled. "Alright."

In a low tone, he began to list the highlights of Boston so she could decide how she would keep herself entertained while he was out. She didn't even hear half the list; the murmur of the television and the motion of his chest as he spoke or breathed lulled her to sleep quickly, and deeply.

The next morning, she was out the door before Freddie had even stirred. As much fun as it would be to give Mama Benson a heart attack, she chose to leave because she really, _really_ wasn't in the mood to hear the woman's screeching and rhyming that early in the morning. Who in their right mind got up at six in the morning on a holiday, anyway?

She didn't bother visiting most of the sites Freddie had mentioned the night before. Why he thought she'd be interested in museums or the Opera House, she had no clue. He _had_ mentioned a few venues that had hosted MMA fights, which she _did _care to see, and she wanted to visit Fenway Park, so that's what she focused on that day. She had hotdogs for lunch- nothing like a good ballpark frank in the whole world. He called her every few hours (or at least as often as he could get away from his crazy mother) to check on her, and depending on where she was, he'd let her know if there was anything else to see around.

He walked in to his dorm at around nine, as she sat by the foot of his bed, eating the first pizza she had conned from Jost and watching a pay per view movie she had gleefully charged to Freddie's account. He was carrying a doggy bag with him, filled to the brim with turkey, cranberry jelly and other Thanksgiving treats. He'd brought it back for her, he said, because he didn't think it was fair that she was missing out on her favorite holiday (the one with all the food!) just because of his mother. It was a pity she had already eaten.

Poor lad of little faith, she thought, and proceeded to wolf down both the pizza _and_ the Thanksgiving dinner like there was no tomorrow.

The rest of the break went by with much the same routine: First, one of them would wake up early and leave (it was Freddie's turn on Black Friday because his mother was OCD about getting to the shops in time. She had a schedule and everything). He would spend the day with his mother while she wandered around Boston checking out touristy places. By dinnertime he'd be back to his dorm, and they'd eat pizza while watching movies. Then they would go to bed and cuddle until they fell asleep. Only they didn't call it cuddling, of course.

On Saturday, as he was picking anchovies out of his side of the pizza and throwing them on hers, he let slip something he might have meant as an off-hand comment, but really wasn't. "So, my Mom thinks I have a secret girlfriend," he said.

She raised an eyebrow, questioning him with her mouth full of pizza. "Considering you're _you_, why would anyone think you're capable of _getting _a girlfriend?"

He let that taunt slide off him. "I don't know." He shrugged. "I think it's because I've been on the phone so often while I'm with her." He chuckled. "I told her I was just talking to you, but she didn't believe me. Something about me being too smart to still be friends with someone who abused me for so long," he explained, shaking his head in disbelief at the power of denial. He moved in to grab the slice of pizza he had just been picking at.

Sam nodded, wisely. "She has a point." And as if to illustrate that point better, she forcefully pushed him to one side and snatched the slice he had been reaching for.

"I think she might believe I'm dating Mary," he added, rubbing at the back of his neck, which he had hit against the corner of his bed. "I mentioned her a few times back when she was still our RA, and Mom might've gotten the wrong idea."

She blinked owlishly at him. "Mary? You mean redheaded, freckly Mary with the squirrelly voice, whose Jack Skellington purse I stole?" she asked him, slice of pizza halfway to her mouth.

He frowned at her as once again he dove for the pizza- this time making sure to grab the slice _before _picking out the anchovies. "Wait. No, you didn't steal Mary's Jack Skellington purse," he sentenced, confused at her statement. "She still has it. I've seen it."

She shrugged. "Just because she still has it, doesn't mean I didn't steal it," she quipped as she took a bite of glorious pepperoni and anchovies on extra cheese.

He threw her a bewildered look. "That makes absolutely no sense!"

She flicked an anchovy at his head.

That night, sleep didn't come so easy to her. She thought it was probably because she'd have to drive all the way back to Chicago in just a little while, and she wasn't looking forward to seventeen hours on the road. Or it may have been the pizza, who knew. It seemed the most likely explanation, because she could tell Freddie wasn't asleep, either. She made a mental note to squirt Krazy Glue on Jost's door lock for giving her bad pizza.

She let go, switching positions until she was lying on her side, her back to him. He didn't say anything. She did fall asleep... eventually.

Too soon into her so-called "rest," it was time for her to go. He walked her to the parking lot, offering to help her with her bag- which he did for all of two seconds before she snatched it back and carried it all the way down herself. She threw it forcefully on the back seat of Melanie's cutesy, blue Aveo, and turned to him, arms crossed. "So. I'm off."

Just as she was about to walk around the car to get to the driver's side, he grabbed her wrist. "Come on," he interjected, with a teasing smile. "I housed you and fed you for the last three days. Don't I at least get a hug?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Jost fed me. You just served as a pillow." She flicked him on the forehead, which he complained about, but then, as she got behind the wheel, she heard him chuckle. She heard him mumble something, and it might have been "Good enough for me," but she couldn't be sure.

She started the engine and lowered the windows (if she was spending seventeen hours on the highway, wind in her hair was the best way to go). Before she could kill the brakes, though, he leaned down to look at her, resting his weight against the passenger door. "Hey," he quipped, grinning a little. "Next time you visit, please let me know beforehand, will you?"

She groaned at that. "Must you take all the fun out of everything, Fredsquare?" was her comeback. For some reason, this made him grin even wider; she rolled her eyes at his goofiness. She gave him a nonchalant wave as the window went back up, and she could see him through her rear view mirror as she exited the parking lot, hands in his pockets as he watched her drive away. She wasn't sure why she hadn't replied "As if I would ever visit you again!" as she had first intended to.

When she got back to Chicago that night, Melanie was already home. As expected, the bubbly blonde received her with a warm smile. "Hey! There's my twin sister. How was that maple syrup?"

Sam dropped her bag on the couch, and took a look around, like she no longer recognized the place. Finally settling her eyes on her sister, who was eagerly awaiting an answer, she crossed her arms and took a slow, deep breath. "It was... nice," she said. And she smiled. "Yeah... it was nice."

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**Author's notes!-**

About the Norwegia thing, I don't think Sam is stupid (on the contrary), she just doesn't care to know that kind of stuff. I'm hanging onto her Norwegia comment in _iBeat The Heat_.

Freddie's dorm is a single because, well, his mother would kinda force him to get one, wouldn't she?

This, along with chapter 7, are the longest chapters in the fic. Funnily enough both of them weigh approximately the same. So stay tuned! If you liked this one, you're going to love the next one. ;) See you next Thursday!


	6. Chapter 6

**Your Call**

_Chapter 6_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:**Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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She didn't hear the phone ring, because the music around her was so loud, but she did feel it vibrate against her thigh. She pulled it out of her pocket, flipped it open and upon seeing who the caller was, flipped it closed again. Just because the dork had nothing to do on a Saturday night didn't mean he had to impose his loserness on her. She put the phone back in her pocket and asked Melanie's boyfriend Craig to bring her another drink; she was running out.

But the phone kept ringing and it was starting to annoy her. The third time she felt it vibrate, she signaled to her sister that she'd step out for a little while to get this call. Her twin nodded at her. Sam went out to the parking lot, noticing with a smirk the line at the door was still pretty full.

Every once in a while she'd go clubbing with Melanie and some of her friends from college, all of whom were pretty cool people, as she'd discovered when she moved to Chicago. Sometimes she would bring the few friends of her own she'd made through work or otherwise, and they made for a pretty big, and really fun group of people.

She flipped her phone open as it rang for the fourth time, taking it to her ear with a frown. "This better be good, Freddumb, 'cause you just pulled me out of a club and I'm in no mood for a pity chat," she started, pacing around a corner as she spoke.

Instead of coming up with some lame excuse for calling her, though, he blurted out something she wasn't expecting. "I have a date tonight," he said, really quickly, and just as abruptly her steps halted.

All it took was one phrase: five words, and there it was again, that odd feeling in her chest she got when she heard him talking about or looking at other girls. The one that made her want to run away and lash out at the same time, from everyone, to anyone. She wasn't stupid; she knew what it meant. Initially she may have passed it as disgust that someone might actually like a nerd such as him, but by now she knew there was something else there. However, she would do her damnedest to ignore it; things were good between them just as they were, and although she was a daredevil when it came to most things, she wasn't going to play games with her heart. It was just unthinkable.

"And yes, with an actual _girl_." He must've thought her silence meant she was trying to come up with an insult, because his retort was biting.

That effectively snapped her out of it. "Yeah, I was just gonna ask if you made her out of metal or plastic," she tried, but her head wasn't really in it. He probably heard it in her voice, because he didn't say anything else about that weak taunt. "So...?"

On her prompt, he kept on pressing the topic she least wanted to hear about. She could kick herself. "It's just- I don't know... should I?"

She played dumb. And felt like an idiot. "Should you, what?"

She heard him take a deep breath, then let it out before he spoke. "Should I go on this date," he clarified, sounding like whatever her answer to his question was, it was more important to him than the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

All of a sudden she felt the urge to throw her phone into a trash can. She looked around the parking lot. Why were there no trashcans in that stupid place? Only can crushers and paper shredders. Stupid recycling-loving hippies! And Mel's friend Tanya for saying this hippie hole was the hottest club in town! She swallowed hard, and tried to hold back for a second, but then snapped. "Listen, I think it's Carly you should be calling about this, 'cause me giving you romantic advice? Yeah, as if-"

"No, it just has to be you, okay?" he interrupted her, in between exasperated and desperate. She heard him let out a huff, and somehow she imagined he was pacing, too. "Look, she's this girl in my Social Problems class, and I haven't even spoken to her that much but two days ago she came up to me and asked me out, and I didn't want to be a dirk so I said yes."

The silence stretched and she guessed it was because he was expecting her to say something. "So... what does that have to do with me?" she asked him, half-dreading the answer to that question.

Another breath in, breath out. "I thought..." he started, then there was a pause as he gathered his thoughts. "I don't know if... you and I..."

She let out a dry chuckle and readied herself to say what she was supposed to say, because this was the way things were supposed to be, no matter how wretched it made her feel. She'd get over it. "What you and I, Benson? Don't pass up a good opportunity for something that isn't there."

"Right," he said, almost absentmindedly, and she didn't know what to feel. In fact, right at that moment she wished she didn't have to feel anything. But then his tone turned to steel. "You're right. I shouldn't have called you," he let her know, and his words cut through her. Then there was a click as the call was disconnected from the other side, and she was left standing there, staring at his nickname in the call log.

She'd done the right thing. And she felt horrible about it.

She walked back into the club and tried to get back in the partying mood. After about half an hour of half-hearted attempts at laughing at her friends' jokes, she decided to let her sister know she wasn't feeling very well and was going to catch a cab home. Melanie, somewhat concerned, handed her the keys to her car, explaining that Craig could just drive her home later. Sam rolled her eyes and told her she'd expect her home the following afternoon. She waved bye at everybody, and left.

Traffic was a bitch; by the time she made it to their apartment, it was nearing eleven. Way too early for her to give up partying, much less for a doofus like Fredward Benson. Stupid. She plopped open her laptop and started browsing through her friends' SplashFace pages, just to have something to do. Her cousin Dewey had been let out of jail. Carly had finished redecorating her room (Sam had already received a picture via phone hours ago). Her boss' dog had had puppies.

Freddie had uploaded a picture of him and his date.

She examined the girl closely. She looked about their age, with brown hair cut to her chin, falling in perfectly styled light waves against her face. Her eyes were big, and forest green. She had a button nose. She was no exotic beauty but she wasn't bad-looking either; she didn't look too flashy in her dark grey pencil skirt and purple Chinese-style top. She was smiling brightly as she leaned toward Freddie, posing for the picture.

She seemed nice.

Sam's fingers itched to leave a comment.

She knew it was petty, and once again she tried to convince herself she only did it because he liked this girl, and she liked to annoy him. It was the "Sam" thing to do. But then again they weren't in High School anymore and you know what, she just couldn't stand this. She hated it. Him. That girl. This day. Everything.

_Thought u said she was human, Fredgeek? Must be from another planet if she can stand next to u and look this happy._

She'd been to the kitchen three times in the last fifteen minutes, in hopes of coming across something remotely edible, but there was nothing to be found because it was her turn to go grocery shopping and she'd been putting it off all week. And there was nothing good on TV, because _normal_ people usually went out on Saturday night instead of saying in, moping because their weekend blew. Hard. So she just laid down on her bed, watching but not watching some bland animated show on MTV that wasn't half as funny as advertised.

Randomly she started browsing through her call log, which was now nearing the size of Texas because she never bothered to clear it out. The vast majority of the calls she received were from Carly, of course, and quite a few from Melanie. Some of her friends could also be found on that list. Her boss called her every once in a while outside work hours when she was needed urgently. There was one missed call from her mother, which she thought might be the one line in the call log she might outright delete.

She had to admit, she had never realized how often Freddie called her. Mostly he called to check on her, see what she'd been up to, much like Carly did. It wasn't every day, though. And she had thought he called like every other week, but it turned out they talked more often than that. Funny, didn't feel like it. She wondered why that was.

She laid back on her pillows, closed phone in her outstretched hand. She was still holding it when it started ringing. She flipped it open and put it to her ear, without bothering to look at the caller ID. It was probably just Melanie, anyway, calling to check if she'd gotten home safe. She was sickeningly sweet like that. "Yeah?"

"You're a horrible person, you know that?"

She hadn't expected him to call her again this soon. She figured they'd go a week or something without any sort of contact, as he let his anger stew and she pretended nothing happened. Then he'd call and apologize for being a knob, which she'd ever-so-graciously forgive him for without offering anything that could be construed as an apology of her own. He'd complain. She'd put him down for it. They would argue, and life would go on as normal.

But it was too soon. She hadn't come to grips with things yet. "Oh, he-ey!" she started somewhat shakily. "Did your carriage turn back into a pumpkin, Cinderelly? I would've thought you'd, uh, still be on your date." Not the best in her repertoire, she had to admit, but at least she'd thought of something.

He chuckled. She didn't know if that meant he was amused. "I _was_," he started to explain. "But then I saw your comment and it hit me that I hadn't even been paying attention to Geena all night."

She scrunched up her nose. "Geena? What kinda name is _Geena?_"

Her question had honestly been directed more to herself than to him, but he replied anyway. "Don't start with that. The poor girl just got dumped halfway through the first date." Okay, now she knew he was really amused. She could let herself relax, which she did by noisily stretching her arms and legs. She was not feeling smug about this. No, really, she wasn't.

Alright, maybe she was.

She chuckled. He didn't, but his silence didn't come across as tense, or charged as things between them often did. And when he called out to her with a soft "Hey," she suddenly felt deja-vu, like she was transported back seven years, to a moment when she was standing on a window exit to a fire escape, him giving her a lopsided smile and both of them saying words that meant one thing, but expressed something completely different. But this time, there was no "I hate you." There was no pretense.

"I miss you," is what he said.

She laughed. She laughed because she was still Sam and that's just the kind of thing she did, because she still didn't know how to deal with mushy stuff like this, and even with these- these _feelings_, their relationship, whatever it was, was still as unorthodox as ever. "You're _talking _to me, you boob." But something in her chest hitched at his words and maybe, just maybe, this random, undefined thing they had wasn't so bad.

Now he snickered. "Yeah, but it's not the same."

She rolled her eyes. "A minute ago you said I'm a horrible person. What, do you even miss all these horrible things I supposedly do?" She lifted herself up and fluffed her pillow, setting it on her back as she rested against the headboard. "Which I don't, by the way- you're just a wuss."

He let out a pained groan, maybe a tad too overdramatic to be genuine. "Thanks," he remarked dryly, then exhaled in a resigned sigh. "Yes, I guess I do miss it. Everything." He paused, like the words that had come out of his mouth had only just hit him. "Man, how pathetic is that?"

She tsk-ed at him. "Very." Then she continued in her perfect tone she used when she was purposefully trying to push his buttons: "Of course, you should be used to the patheticness by now, Fredward. Pathetic is practically your middle name!"

He scoffed. "My middle name is Richard," he muttered, which made her laugh- although of course, she already knew that. She always took care to learn people's full names... it could come in handy. In Freddie's case, however, his first name had provided for more than enough material over the years. In any case, he had apparently decided not to rise to her taunts that day, and she had to give him points for determination. Instead, he chose to take the conversation down a different road. One she knew he would eventually bring up. "Sam... what are we doing?"

Yes. The nine billion dollar question. The one she still couldn't answer to herself, let alone him. "...I don't know," she admitted.

He seemed to evaluate her answer for a couple of seconds, then ventured on. "But... you know, right?" He emphasized the word "know" like it had some special meaning. Yes, it did, and yes, she knew. "I mean..." he tried to clarify, but it was hard for him to find the words. "There _is_ a you and I. We have... this is _something_... right?"

She would've loved to say something sarcastic, or tease him about his lack of eloquence, but he was so hesitant, she didn't have the heart to. Curse him, he was making her go soft. But truth be told, she didn't know if she could've put it any better; she didn't like labels. "Yeah, whatever," she mumbled, and she knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but she continued speaking before he could ask her what that was supposed to mean. "Of course it's still crazy because we argue all the time, and we're like a thousand miles apart anyway and I am _not _going to be driving up there all that often, if that's what you thought."

"Maybe that's a good thing," he suggested, trying to find a silver lining on things. Which Sam knew was very hard to do with her, but he was a big dork so of course he was going to try. "At least it means you can't send me to the ER if I say the wrong thing."

She rolled her eyes. Alright, so maybe she had no qualms about causing people bodily harm, but had she _ever_ hurt him on purpose when they were having a serious conversation? Okay, so there was that _one_time but geez, talk about holding grudges... "I can still have your shampoo replaced with hair dye, though," she warned him, teasing.

He paused abruptly. "You can't do that from all the way in Chicago," he tried to bluff her into thinking he wasn't bothered by her comment, even adding a "pfff" to the end of the sentence. Play cool, huh?

He was a really bad actor, though, so he still sounded nervous, which she liked. She grinned. Fear was always an appropriate reaction. "You wanna try me, Benson?" And _she _certainly wasn't bluffing. She had her ways. Oh, she had her ways. All it took was one call to the right person...

She heard him swallow hard. "...Let's just leave it at that." And she laughed, because she knew from now on, he'd make sure to check his shampoo every time he had to wash his hair; he was just too easy. He cleared his throat, and tried again. "But then... this is good, right?" he said, referring to the unidentified "something" they'd been talking about previously. "For now, at least," he added, hopeful.

She shrugged, trying not to sound excited; she had a reputation to uphold, after all. "Yeah, I guess this is okay," she replied, as noncommittally as she could. Although her stomach was kind of jumping all over the place.

He sighed, sounding absolutely relieved. "Awesome." She could almost hear him smiling through the phone, and she had to cringe at his cheesiness. What a loser, she thought. But this thought might've held more weight, had she not been smiling as well. "Right. I think I better go now, it's getting late." She heard him shuffle around. "Call you tomorrow?"

"Hmmm." She thought about it for a second. "Depending on what I get for breakfast, I _might_ choose to pick up the phone," she let him know. Funnily enough, she wasn't playing coy; her mood usually depended on how her day began, or more accurately, the availability and quality of the food she ingested first thing in the morning.

"I'll keep callin'," he sentenced in an amused, sing-songy tone.

She mock-scoffed. "Stalker." She held the phone in front of her mouth, and spoke into it like it was a microphone. "Go away!" But she was laughing, and she couldn't hear it because she flipped her phone closed without waiting for a reply, but she knew he was, too.

She got up and off the bed, grabbed her laptop and popped it open. She directed the web browser to Zaplook and entered a few search terms. She hoped someone was still delivering at that hour, because she had a big craving for fried chicken.

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**Author's notes!-**

...Man, this feels wholly inadequate after iOMG. xD

Random note: The title of this fic doesn't actually come from Secondhand Serenade's song of the same name. In fact, at the moment I wrote this fic I didn't even remember they had a song with that name (I have 6800+ songs on my iPod and the crappiest memory on Earth, so sue me for not remembering every single song!). However, now that I look back on the lyrics, I think they actually fit rather well. xD That's kinda awesome, if I do say so myself.

I tried to put in a "42"-style reference to _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, but it sounded off to me so I had to add a few more words to make it sound right. It's still sorta there, if you catch it let me know.

I took a Social Problems class once. Really not my thing. So I decided to make Freddie suffer through it! Random comment, but I had to say it, haha. Meanwhile, there was a "nine billion dollar" reference in there. Good number. Remind you of something? Also, in one of the BTS videos Dan Schneider posted in his blog, Jennette mentions she wants to change her name to "Frederick Ricardo." Now guess where my personal canon middle name for Freddie came from. ;)

The next installment will be coming up next Thursday, and it's an interlude from Freddie's PoV. So stay tuned!


	7. Interlude

**Your Call**

_Interlude_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:**Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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The second time Sam Puckett called Freddie Benson, it wasn't even Sam calling.

He didn't notice right away. Given how often he and Sam talked, he probably should've known from the start, but for some reason he didn't. "Hey," he said as soon as he hit the talk button on his phone. "Is something wrong? You don't ever call me if you can avoid it."

"Freddie?" The voice certainly sounded like Sam's, but there was something off. He just couldn't put his finger on what. "Is that you?"

"Considering you called, you should probably know it's me." He couldn't resist adding in a little taunt; it wasn't often that she left such an opening. "What, are you having an off day or something?"

"I'm... sorry?" the girl on the other end of the line asked not understanding what he meant. And the words "I'm sorry" so easily coming from Sam's mouth were such a foreign concept that he should've known something wasn't right at that moment, if only just because of that. Fortunately for him, that's when things got cleared up. "Oh, my bad!" the girl suddenly exclaimed, with a bit of a giggle. "Sorry, Freddie, this isn't Sam, it's Melanie."

"Oh." Well, yeah, that made much more sense. The positive inflection of her voice, the slightly chirpy tone, the giggle, the lack of a scathing remark for daring to tell her she was less than at the top of her game that day. In hindsight it was all very clear. "Right. Um, hi, Melanie. What's up?" he asked, a little unsure about how to approach this call. He and Melanie had never really spoken after their one date years ago, and considering that time didn't exactly end on a high note, he was quite alright with that.

"Sorry, I don't have your number so I had to snatch Sam's phone in order to call you." His mind hung onto the word "snatch" and for the first time he wondered if these two twins were really all that different. "So, how are you? Sam doesn't really speak much about you unless it's to complain, so I don't really know what you've been up to. You're in Boston, right?"

He rolled his eyes. Of course Sam wouldn't bother bringing his name up in regular conversation. That would be asking too much. "Yeah, I'm at Emerson, actually," he said, used to telling people about his college life. He had a lot of relatives and his mother liked showing him off to everybody who would bother to listen. "I'm majoring in Media Production."

"That's awesome," she told him, and he could hear from her tone that she was mostly being polite; clearly, she hadn't called just to catch up with him. Fortunately, he didn't have to awkwardly wonder any longer, because she continued speaking before he had to say anything else. "Listen, I have to be really quick. Sam doesn't want me to tell you guys this, but... she's been taking Auto Tech classes at Truman Community College for a while now. She's already completed all credit hours for her Associate's Degree and... well, graduation is this Saturday!" she finished, in a chipper tone.

The dead silence that accompanied that statement was enough to prompt her to check if Freddie was still on the line. So, yeah, to say he was astounded would be an understatement. Sam, in college? _Voluntarily?_Must be a sign that the world was ending, but... it also kind of made sense. "Wait. Is that where she kept disappearing to every afternoon? She kept giving me these bogus excuses and then when I'd try to call her again it would go straight to voicemail..."

"Wow. You knew she was going somewhere every day? How often do you guys speak?" Melanie's voice carried an edge of curiosity, like she had an inkling that there was more to the usual Sam & Freddie frienmity than they were letting on.

Freddie tried not to gulp; he was afraid he'd given out too much already, and that would certainly be bad; Sam would barely admit they were on speaking terms at all, so it was safe to say there was no way she would ever be fine with telling people they were dating. Sort of. Kind of. Ish. And Freddie didn't want to push it because he liked the way things were going between them and, well, he valued his life, thank you very much. "Um, well, you know, every few weeks- so graduation's this Saturday, you say? That's... amazing!" he changed the topic not-so-subtly and it made Melanie laugh, but she was nice enough to leave it alone.

Melanie had contacted Carly first, so by the time Freddie reached his other best friend, she was already packing. She arrived at Boston by noon the next day, and a couple hours later they hopped on a plane, en route to Chicago; they had some money saved up and neither of them felt like driving all the way there, so they took the quickest route.

On Saturday morning, Melanie met them at the entrance to the court where the ceremony was being held, smiling even though she was complaining about Sam's lazy ways- apparently she had sentenced the previous night that Melanie was making too big a deal out of this graduation thing; she saw no point in being present at commencement so long as she got her diploma somehow, mostly to avoid having to get up early. Melanie had to go to great lengths to convince her to go, the most offensive of which was apparently the compromise that Sam could wear jeans and sneakers to the ceremony.

Carly seemed appropriately horrified by this, and promptly commiserated with the bubbly blonde. Freddie was just happy she'd be there; he really wanted to see her.

He didn't pay much attention to the ceremony itself. At first he tried to catch a glimpse of Sam in the crowd of graduating students, but he gave up after a few minutes; it was a sea of black caps & gowns down there, and blonde hair wasn't much of an indicative. Eventually he started fixing up the settings on his handheld video camera, because he wanted to capture the moment Sam got her diploma. He would be dragged back into the ceremony every once in a while by Carly excitedly going "They'reonF, they'reonF!" while tugging on his sleeve.

He whipped his camera toward the front the moment he saw a familiar hurricane walking up the steps. There was a certain protocol to these things; she seemed intent on defying it.

As her name was called, Melanie started jumping up and down and Carly's throat went hoarse from screaming so much. Freddie only focused on her small form walking up to the podium. She really was wearing sneakers, he noticed. Her steps were rambunctious like only she could make them, as she made her way toward the dean of the Auto Tech department. The man gave her a smile and a nod, and Sam snatched the certificate out of his hands in an almost rude manner, but the man didn't seem to mind. Then she turned to the crowd below, raised both hands in the air in the metal horns sign and let out a big whoop, which had every single person in the place laughing. Freddie zoomed in on her face: she seemed so happy. He loved seeing her like that.

They went down to meet her when the ceremony was over, and actually they found her as she was coming up to look for her sister. She'd already ditched the cap & gown and when she saw him and Carly were with Melanie, she let out a shocked "Oh my God, what are you guys doing here?" and was in Carly's arms in two seconds flat. They screeched and jumped and Carly started crying, blubbering about how proud she was of her and how much she missed not seeing her every day and how amazing it was that she was doing so well in Chicago. Sam's smile could've lit up a room.

After Carly let go of her, only to grab her in another bear hug for just a little longer and then letting go of her again, Melanie embraced her sister and congratulated her warmly. Freddie hung back a little, hands in his pockets and a contented smile drawn on his lips. He didn't really know how to act around her now that she was standing in front of him, and he didn't want to do anything that may seem out of the ordinary for them, for fear of breaking the status quo. But if there was one thing that was clear to him, it's that this was Sam's day, and she was the one calling the shots. He could keep his distance if that's what she wanted; in fact, he could stand there and just watch her smile forever. It was beautiful.

Just as he was pondering this, however, her eyes caught his over Melanie's shoulder. She let go of her sister and without any hesitation moved to throw her arms around his neck. It was a very un-Sam thing to do to hug him unprompted, but she was so happy, she didn't have a care in the world. If Melanie or Carly thought this strange, neither made any comment on it; so he wrapped his arms around her waist and gave her a squeeze. He felt her exhale a laugh against his throat and he couldn't help himself: he very lightly pressed a kiss against her blonde hair, hoping it expressed everything he was feeling at the moment.

"I can't believe you both came!" she exclaimed as she let go of him, playfully punching him in the arm, just because. Carly rolled her eyes at their antics. But as they made their way to the parking lot and Melanie's car, her hand nudged his for a second and he looked up to see her giving him that smile, her truly happy smile, and he took that to mean she did understand what he didn't say.

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**Author's notes!-**

I have no idea why I can so easily picture Sam working in auto repair, but I do. Strangely.

Anyway, the Harry S. Truman College is a real community college in Chicago. They do have an Automotive Technology Associate of Applied Science degree, which takes, oh, about two years to complete. Sam finished in about a year and a half, because her work hours are flexible; she started in the spring the year she came to Chicago, and graduated the summer of the following year.

I... have no idea if commencement for Associate's Degrees includes cap & gown and all that pomp and circumstance. My experience with US education is limited to 4-year college. I did get my Associate's certificate, but it was awarded here in my country and the ceremony was pretty informal, so I don't know. But I wanted Sam to wear a cap & gown so I gave her the big ceremony. Hope nobody minds terribly if that's wrong. =)

(BTW, I've had so many comments on Sam opting out of school, that I'm afraid half of you guys will kill me after reading this. Heh).

The next chapter will be a long one, on par with chapter 5. And I'm pretty sure it's one you've been waiting for. ;) So be sure to tune in next Thursday! Meanwhile, I hope you liked this little interlude; it wasn't much of an advance in the way of plot, but I really wanted to add something from Freddie's PoV. Please review!


	8. Chapter 7

**Your Call**

_Chapter 7_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:** Post-series. Hopefully.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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Sam had her arms elbow-deep under the hood of a '96 Camaro when her cell phone started ringing. She took a few seconds to finish adjusting the screw she'd been working on, then stepped away from the car, wiping her greasy hands on a rag before fishing the thing out of her pocket. "Yeah?" she answered as she put the phone to her ear. She was only paying half-attention as she went back to checking under the hood.

"Hey. You're at work right now, right?" came Freddie's question from the other side of the line.

"Yes," she replied, tugging on a couple of tubes to check none of them were faulty. The semester was over two days previous, and Freddie was going home to spend the holidays with his mother. With the switch from their usual time difference, he probably wanted to check if she'd be home by the time he got there. "I'll try to get home early, but I can't make any promises. This piece of crap Camaro isn't cooperating with me." She gave the car a slight kick for being difficult, as if it could understand her. "You're at the airport?"

"I'm... out of campus," he said, and she didn't miss the hesitance after the first word. Was he trying to make himself sound mysterious again? She'd told him before, that stuff didn't really work. Being dodgy wasn't cool, it was just annoying. She didn't know why he insisted on learning "life lessons" from Judd Apatow movies, really. Not like she wanted him to be "cool" anyway, but of course she hadn't told him _that_...

She rested her cheek against her shoulder to hold the phone up as she tinkered with the car. "Yeah, well, good. Whatever. Look, it's noon already and I'm hungry so I'm gonna go grab something to eat before I get cranky enough to key this stupid car all over. Talk to you lat-"

"No, wait! Just hold on a little longer." Okay, now that was weird. Usually he knew not to get between her and her food; there was something fishy going on here. She heard a deeper mumble from his side and him speaking indistinctly to someone; the sound was muffled so she assumed he was covering the mouthpiece. About a minute later, he came back into the conversation. "Sorry about that. I, uh, have to wait here for a few minutes, so might as well talk to you while I'm at it, right?"

She was annoyed that he'd left her hanging there for so long without a good reason. "You're acting weird," she said, never one to beat around the bush. "What's going on?"

"What? Nothing. I'm not acting weird, I'm acting normal. Completely normal," he quickly intervened. As far as Sam was concerned, a little _too_ quickly.

She rolled her eyes. "You can't act worth crap, so quit it. Out with it, Benson," she sentenced, stretching to reach for a piece of leftover tubing she'd left to the left of the battery. She heard him keep insisting there was nothing wrong, and still she didn't buy it. "Shit!" she exclaimed as the phone slipped from her shoulder, falling through the drive train and reaching the ground with a clang as it hit the concrete. "Damn it," she muttered to herself as she stepped away from under the hood to crouch under the car so she could retrieve her phone. "Hey. Still there?"

"Did you just drop the phone through the car again?" She heard him sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boss wave her over. "Sam, you have to be more careful with these things-"

"Hold on, Lou's calling me," she said quickly and, putting the still-open phone inside her pocket, addressed her boss, who had walked up to her.

She loved Lou; he was the coolest boss anyone could ever have. He was big, round-cheeked and gruff, with white, halfway balding hair and a fluffy white beard. The first time she saw him, when she came in for her job interview, she bluntly told him he looked like a greasy Santa Claus. He laughed heartily and gave her the job almost right away. She saw the old man as a kind of surrogate grandfather, albeit one that wasn't afraid to engage in snide banter with the young'uns every once in a while.

The guy had made his way into the Chicago car shop scene through blood, sweat and tears, and had to catch up to technology in a time where modern was the rule when it came to automobiles. Now he ran a very stable business that could give any younger car shop owner a run for their money, and had amassed a decent amount of faithful clients, basing the shop mostly on the philosophy of no frills or unnecessary stuff, just do the work, and do it well. She couldn't help but admire him for that.

She looked at him, expectant, her expression drawing a question mark. He grunted. "Sammy, you got a visitor."

She frowned, intrigued. Who could be looking for her at the shop? Melanie certainly wouldn't, and she couldn't think of anyone else who might need her so urgently so as to look for her at work. "That's odd," she let out. Lou shrugged and crossed his arms, telling her to go on and meet this person. She took the cell phone out of her pocket to let Freddie know she had to go. "Listen, something came up so-"

"Why did you put the phone in your pocket?" he asked, sounding amused. "I thought your boss didn't care if you answer calls at work."

She was a little caught off-guard by the sudden topic change and her reaction came instinctively. "He doesn't, but this job I actually _like_, so..." She didn't even have time to register that he shouldn't have known she had put the phone in her pocket at all when she saw him walking up behind Lou, phone still at his ear. "You've gotta be kidding me," she muttered, flipping her phone closed and throwing him a not-really-bothered glare.

"Hey," he said, clicking on his PearPhone to end the call. He gave her an unconcerned smile and put his hands inside his pockets like him being in Chicago, at her workplace in the middle of a weekday was the most normal thing in the world. "Say, how come _he_ gets to call you Sammy," he wondered, signaling to Lou with his head, "and we don't?"

"Because he's awesome, and you suck," she replied instantly, the snark coming out of her involuntarily. Freddie rolled his eyes, and Lou, who was standing beside him, let out a gruff bark of laughter. "What are you doing here?" she pressed on. She hit him in the arm with the rag she was still holding, which made him complain because it was full of oil. "I thought you'd be on a plane to Seattle right now!"

"Well, there _may_ have been a little miscommunication that led my mother to not expect me back home until next week," he quipped, with a grin.

She laughed. "Ahh, sneaky!" she exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. "Clearly this means my attempts at corrupting you are working," she added, with a smirk. "So you'll be here a week?" she asked him, noticing he wasn't carrying a bag with him.

"Give or take a day," he confirmed, with a side-to-side shake of his head.

She let out an overdramatic sigh. "I guess I'll _have _to show you around, then," she said, in a resigned tone. She turned to her boss. "So Lou-"

The large man waved her question off before she could even ask it. "Ah, just take the afternoon off," he told her, dismissing her concern. "In fact, don't bother showing up tomorrow. I don't wanna see yer face 'round here until Wednesday!" he added, with a grin. "Now ya kids get outta here." He pushed Freddie by the shoulder toward the exit, and after thanking him, Sam handed him the rag and the keys to the Camaro before hightailing it outta the shop before he changed his mind about being generous.

"Did you stop by your hotel already?" she asked him as they walked to the lockers, curious about his lack of luggage.

He let out a chuckle. "Hotel? I'm crashing on your couch. Melanie already said I could." He smirked. "So, how's it feel to fall victim to the Sam Puckett method of traveling? Was that enough of a surprise?" he teased her, reminding her of the time she'd done the same to him.

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't pull it off nearly as flawlessly as I would've," she scoffed, reminding him of how obvious his crappy acting was, and how she'd easily figured out something was off. He had a long way to go if he wanted to play in the big leagues.

She recognized off-hand that he had now been to Chicago more times than she had been to Boston: when he and Carly came down and surprised her with an impromptu iCarly to celebrate her birthday, then when they visited for her graduation, and now. In both previous occasions they'd been in town for little more than a day because of time constraints and hadn't really had time to do anything touristy, but her competitive side wouldn't let him have that win. She'd have to do something about it; the gears in her head were already turning.

Through the week she showed him around town, taking him to her favorite places (mostly restaurants and diners, if she had to be honest- he kept saying he'd have to go on a diet when he got to Seattle; for once it was a good thing his mother was paranoid about trans fats). When she had to go back to work, Melanie and her boyfriend would take him around, or he'd take advantage of the fact that Sam wasn't there to visit the more "nerdy" places like the Museum Campus or Harpo Studios. Then he'd wait for her to get out of work so they could grab dinner or wander around some more.

The dudes at the car shop, who weren't used to seeing Sam as a girl, were quick to tease her about her "boyfriend" and wondered if she would go "full daffodil" on them. That is, until she threatened to kick them all so hard, their grandchildren would be feeling the pain. That quickly shut them up.

On Thursday, she took Freddie to their after-work pick-up game of basketball. They got into a huge argument about her participating in team sports: he distinctly remembered her promising Carly never to participate in team sports again after an incident she was involved with in Seattle Little League, and asked her, unsure, to honor that promise. She let him know that it didn't count, because they were in a new city. And he had no right to tell her what to do, anyway. He retorted that being in a new city did not exempt her from having to keep her crazy competitive side in check- "You hit the umpire in the knees with a baseball bat. That _always _counts, Sam!"

Eventually he relented, though, and they played for the last few minutes; she got to make fun of him for being completely inept at sports, so that lifted up her spirits considerably. The game ended in quite a relaxed atmosphere, with only one of her co-workers ending up with a broken nose. For her, that was definitely an improvement.

Most of the week they spent on this routine, hanging out together as much as they could while enjoying the city. They still argued all the time, and she pulled a few pranks on him while he complained that she was psychotic. But that was normal for them. In that sense, they behaved much in the same way they always had. It was comfortable, familiar.

And it was pissing her off.

Not spending time with him, no. She could admit to herself that she liked that (even if she would never admit it to anyone else). It was mostly the fact that this was the first time they saw each other since May, and he hadn't even tried to kiss her yet. He had barely even touched her at all, in fact. They had agreed there was _something_ between them, hadn't they? She didn't want to define what they were, or attach rules to it, but that was some kind of progress, wasn't it? But he insisted on keeping distance between them, and it made no sense to her. Or was it just that he didn't he want to kiss her?

If there was one thing Sam did not take well, it was rejection. Well, there were quite a lot of things Sam did not take well, but rejection was definitely at the top of that list. Who did he think he was, not wanting her? Normally she wouldn't mind taking the first step if that's what it took, she didn't care for traditional gender roles anyway, but this time it was different. Now she was just angry. And an angry Sam was a ticking time bomb, no doubt about it.

The bomb finally went off on Friday night as they were walking back to her apartment after a movie. Okay, so it wasn't a romantic movie (she hated those), so it wasn't like she expected him to try the old "yawning" trick on her or anything, but they had been discussing the movie after they left the theater and at one point, she'd caught him staring intensely at her. She could've sworn he was going to lean in, but he didn't. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. "Okay, what is your problem?" she let out, giving him a shove.

He frowned at her, rubbing at his pained shoulder. "What was that for? I didn't do anything!"

"_Exactly!_" she exclaimed and oh, how she wanted to punch him. But part of her was angry at herself for feeling so agitated. It wasn't like she needed him anyway, she might as well just go and leave him on his own. Right? "Look, if you want to ignore everything that's happened between us in the past two years, then go right ahead. See if I care!"

She was about to take off, but his expression turned genuinely confused and that stopped her. "What...? Ignore..." He shook his head, as if to clear it. "I'm not ignoring anything, Sam. I mean, I'm here, aren't I? I could've just gone home and not even bothered coming here, but I did. What else was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, _something!_" she concluded, waving a hand around like the word she really wanted to use was right in front of her but she couldn't reach it. "Don't just stand there acting like there's nothing here when you know perfectly well there is," she accused, pointing a finger in his direction. "Seriously, what kind of _moron _wastes every opportunity he gets to make a move on a girl?"

It seemed like it was finally dawning on him what she was going on about. His jaw tensed; he was starting to get angry, too. "Make a move? Are you freakin' _kidding _me, Sam? Since the moment I realized I felt something more than friendship for you, I've been deathly afraid if I move too fast, you'll either break my arm or it'll scare you off for good. I don't want to screw this up, so sue me for being careful!"

"Oh, _man _up, Benson!" she screamed. Thankfully it was late and the street they were currently in was mostly deserted. Not that she cared, of course; whoever objected to her tone could very well suck it because she wasn't backing out of this one. "If you're going to be a coward about this then maybe we're just going nowhere."

"That's not fair!" he made sure to make himself heard before she could think of leaving again. "Do you know how hard to read you are? I never know what's going to happen with you, Sam!" he sounded immensely frustrated as he spoke these words. "Sometimes I think we can really be together and it's great, but you keep giving me these mixed signals and I don't-"

She let out a thoroughly unamused bark of laughter, the mere thought of what he'd said being extremely offensive to her. Mixed signals? Seriously, what was he, a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl? "What mixed signals? There _are _no signals!"

"Well, it's not like you've bothered telling me how you feel, either!" he spat out in reply to her outright denial. He was visibly fuming by now. "I mean, all this time I've been thinking of you as my girlfriend, but for all I know you could've been dating other guys all along and I can't even fault you for it because we've never made any promises-"

She interrupted him again, this time with a hard shove. She would've clocked him in the jaw, but right then she was so angry she might not be able to control her strength, and she didn't fancy winding up in jail for the night. Still, she could not believe his gall, he was such an insecure little boy... "God, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought, Freddie!" she crossed her arms, glaring bloody murder at him. "What, you think I've been shacking up with random guys while you're in Boston? Is that it?"

"_No!_" he replied straight away, sounding frustrated that she didn't get it. He ran a hand through his hair, reflexively. "Maybe- that's not the point! The thing is, you're damn confusing! You know, it would be nice to have _some _reassurance that I'm not just deluding myself into thinking you like me!"

She gaped at him, half in disbelief and half astounded at his stupidity. Had his brain been disconnected from the rest of him for the last two years? How could he not _know_? "What do you think the last two years have been _about_, jerkhole?" She took a step forward like she was about to lunge at him, but then contained herself. "You think this has been easy for me? That just because I want you to kiss me I have to be all over you, all the time? Well, guess what, _buddy_," she poked at his chest roughly, "I don't work like that. What you see is what you get. Take it or leave it, I don't care."

He groaned in his frustration. "Come on, don't be like this." He tried to reach for her but she was already back stepping. "This isn't easy for me either, you know. I've been in a position where I care more deeply for someone than they do about me, and I don't want to go through that again." The implication that he cared for her deeply almost went over her head, she was still so angry. But then he paused, like he was just registering her previous words. "Wait. You want me to kiss you? Really?" he sounded unsure, and hopeful, and maybe a little bit giddy.

She scoffed. "Well, not anymore!" she retorted, extending her arms to the sides as if to say it didn't get more obvious than that. With those words she spun on her heel and stalked off, intent on not having to stare at his stupid face in the foreseeable future. She didn't care where he slept that night, he could camp in the park for all she cared. Heck, she'd get him a bottle of bug spray, no charge, if it meant he'd stay the hell away from her.

Unfortunately, he wasn't going to have that. She'd barely gotten a few steps in when she felt him run to her and grab her by her arm, just hard enough to get her to turn around. Then he was cupping a hand to the back of her neck and his lips descended on hers, insistent and, somehow, getting through to her more than his words had a minute ago.

Well, she'd always been more of a doer than a thinker, anyway.

She closed her eyes as he wrapped his other arm around her waist, sending a chill through her, even beneath the layers of her clothes and jacket. Even in the cold December air he felt warm all over, and she greedily craved more, entwining her arms around his shoulders and pushing herself as close as she could. His mouth opened against hers and she tugged at his bottom lip with her teeth. She heard him groan. Then he dove right in, his height making her have to lean back in order to give back as much.

It was intense, and amazing, and a struggle. She would push and he would push, and she loved it that way. It made her want more. Because no matter how much she sometimes wanted to give in, she couldn't, and he wouldn't want her to, and it was always a battle between them. Always a battle.

When they separated to catch their breath, she kicked him in the shin. Hard.

He let out an "Owww!" and stumbled back, trying to hold on to his bruised shin while at the same time trying to keep himself stable on one leg. Eventually he couldn't stay upright and he fell on his butt, another pained exclamation leaving his lips as he hit the concrete. He glared up at her. "See? _That's_ a mixed signal, _right there!_" he exclaimed, pointing at her accusingly with the index finger of the hand that wasn't furiously rubbing at his hurt leg. She gave him her standard bored expression in return.

After a few seconds of their little staring contest, she rolled her eyes. "Come on," she said, extending a hand to help him up.

He looked at her offered hand, understandably distrustful; over the years she'd played more than enough pranks on him that started exactly this way. She let out a resigned huff. "I'm just going to help you up. No tricks, I promise," she tried to convince him.

He glared at her some more. "I've heard that one before," he muttered to himself, but still put his hand in hers.

She pulled him to his feet with a tug (not like it was hard, he was a lightweight). He turned to check if his pants had gotten dirty; thankfully the walkway wasn't muddy or wet, so he just found some speckles of dust that didn't require much patting to get off. She almost laughed when she saw this. She tugged at his hand, the one she was still holding in hers, to get his attention.

He turned to her, still a bit grumble-y, and asked her what she wanted now. She said nothing. Instead, she pulled at his hand to bring him closer to her, and when he was close enough, she leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him very lightly.

It was simple, barely lasted a few seconds, but it was soft. Softer than she thought she wanted, and softer than she thought she could be. She saw, from the arch of his eyebrows when she stepped back, and the way his eyes remained closed for two seconds longer than necessary, that it had surprised him, too.

He looked straight into her eyes, indefinable, and he might've been even more confused just as much as he might've been ecstatic. She smiled; it was probably tinged with a hint of a smirk, but that was just her. "If that's not enough reassurance for you," she started, walking a few steps backward, his eyes following her every move, "then you're really one stupid nub." She laughed and turned to walk home. She looked back at him over his shoulder and saw him smile, and put his hands in his pockets as he followed after her.

He made a big show of limping as he walked. He was such a dork.

They made it back to her apartment before it got too late and before the night got too chilly. He kissed her again before she went to bed. Just because he could, he told her, and she accused him of being an incurable sap. He just grinned at her.

An hour or so later she got up to get a glass of water and maybe a midnight snack, if available (they'd been eating out so often that week, there really was no food in the apartment. So, boo, no Fat Cakes for Sammy). She caught sight of a note taped with a magnet to the fridge door, written in a swirly calligraphy she'd come to know well. Taking a big gulp of her water, she crumbled the note in her hand and threw it in the trashcan, walking out into the living room. She sat down on the coffee table and started prodding Freddie with a sock-covered foot.

After a few tries he finally moved, pulling the pillow from over his head (he had a bad case of bed hair for only having slept for one hour- or should she say "couch hair"?), blinking bleary eyes at her and articulating something that could've been "What is it?" but in reality sounded more like "Mfhhhng Hnng." She raised an eyebrow at him, amused; maybe they should've been doing "Wake up, Freddie" segments for iCarly, instead of "Wake up, Spencer."

"Melanie's spending the night at Craig's," she explained, pulling at his arm to try and get him up. "Come on."

He probably wasn't awake enough to understand what she just said, but either way he let himself be dragged to her bedroom. She grabbed a hold of her covers, wrapping herself in them when she got on the bed, and it took him like ten seconds of squinting and rubbing at his eyes to finally get it. The moment he got in beside her she wrapped her arms around him, legs tangling with his as she snuggled her head into the crook where his neck met his shoulder. She'd missed this. This was comfortable. This was nice.

He leaned his head atop of hers. "Sam...?" he breathed into her hair. She hummed to signal him to go on. She was too comfortable to move in any way, except for her thumb rubbing circles against his ribs.

It was a few seconds later that he said it, stretching a little to make himself more comfortable before exhaling in a sigh. "I love you," he let her know. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and she closed her eyes, only partly because she was sleepy.

She never responded back; at least, not that night. But then again, he didn't seem to be expecting an answer either, which she was glad for.

What did happen, however, was that five minutes of serene silence later, she started poking him on the side, asking him to pass her cell phone. Oddly enough she found herself calling Carly and letting her know that okay, maybe she did like Freddie, just a _teeny_, _tiny_ bit, really (she said this with her voice muffled because she had her cheek pressed against his chest), but she had decided to give him a shot. Mainly because he was so pathetic sometimes, he kinda reminded her of that plushy of the puppy with the big eyes- but regardless, they were sort of, kind of, dating now. No big deal.

Carly's stunned-slash-delighted exclamations, screeches and an incessant barrage of questions came so loud through the phone, Sam had to pull it away from her ear so she wouldn't go temporarily deaf. She glared at the phone, commenting that it was way too late for someone to be this excited about anything. Freddie laughed, and leaned in to whisper in her ear that yes, this was more than enough reassurance for the moment.

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**Author's notes!-**

AND IT BECOMES CLEAR I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT CARS LOLZ. -rolls her eyes- Anyway, there is a reference to the first Michael Bay _Transformers_ movie in this chapter. If you're able to spot it, let me know!

There wasn't much of a phone conversation in this chapter, but it was sort of a throwback to chapter five, so I don't mind that too much. In case you don't know, the Chicago Museum Campus is a park that surrounds three museums: a planetarium (_the first _planetarium built in the Western hemisphere, actually), an aquarium and a natural history museum. I've never been there, but I would love to go, it sounds amazing. Harpo Studios is Oprah Winfrey's production company, which is based in Chicago.

Just as I have no idea why I think Sam would be great at auto tech, I have no idea why I've always felt she'd like baseball. It's just one of those things that pops into my head and refuses to leave, like the idea of her hitting an umpire with the bat- doesn't that sound just like Sam? Funny thing: I already had this chapter all typed up and done when the promo pictures for _iPity The Nevel_ popped up on the iCarly website, and one of them said Sam was "not legally allowed to hold a baseball bat since 2007." How's that for a coincidence? xD


	9. Chapter 8

**Your Call**

_Chapter 8_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:**Post-series. Hopefully.

**Warning:** Um, this chapter may be... a _little_ over the PG-13 line. Not quite R, of course, but I would say PG-14/15-ish. I mean, there's really no description of anything, but the gap between PG-13 and R is so big, and it's been 13 years since I was 13 so most likely it _does_ fit as PG-13 by official standards- but still. I'm just going to be a bit careful here and warn you that it's a little bit stronger than previous chapters.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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Sam loved her job. She'd never really pictured herself working on cars for a living until she made the split-second decision to enroll at Truman, but now she was glad she did. When she was working on a car, she forgot about any problems she may have, intent on getting the machine working properly, partly making it her lifeline. There was something soothing about the hum of a nice engine.

Unfortunately for her, that morning she was stuck doing paperwork for a bunch of parts they had to order in from Germany, which was tedious and boring as hell, so she found herself getting distracted every few minutes. It was especially hard to concentrate when she had such a good distraction going through her mind.

She dropped her pen on top of the stack of papers she was going through and lightly massaged the back of her neck. Desk work wasn't her thing, and every time she closed her eyes she found herself picturing them together, getting little flashes of words and moments and feelings exchanged on that night, and there was no way she could just jump back into price quotes and mailing addresses after that. It was getting kind of annoying, actually. It wasn't like it was her first time, yet she was acting like a silly teenage girl and she felt terribly stupid about it. But she couldn't help herself; who would've thought the dork would be so good at it, really?

She leaned back in her chair with a sigh and allowed herself to think about the previous weekend. Her and Freddie still talked on the phone almost every day, but they didn't get to see each other as much as she'd want. She thought long-distance relationships _sucked_, to be quite honest, and she was the least patient person on Earth so she didn't even know how they'd lasted these past few months without her blowing up at him for having the gall to live a thousand miles away from her. Plus causing global warming and a bunch of other things he couldn't really be blamed for.

They tried to see each other as often as they could. He flew up to Chicago on MLK weekend, and now it was her turn to visit him on President's day. She didn't even know when they started taking "turns" and actually it kind of bugged her because it sounded so... domestic. And Sam didn't _do_ domestic.

But either way it was happening, and last weekend she drove down there as she often did- completely dismissing his request for her to come by plane instead so they'd have more time together as an obviously ignorant idea, because why would she shill out money for a plane ticket when they were now _charging _for refreshments and snacks? Narcs. No, it was a matter of principle. So it took her all of Saturday to get to Boston, and when she arrived she was dead tired so they went to bed almost straight away.

On Sunday, he let her know he had planned their entire day so they could maximize their time together. He had a schedule and everything, and he explained it to her over breakfast; she stared blankly at him, entirely unimpressed, as he rattled on and on about activities and times, but otherwise let herself be dragged around town by him, for the sake of peace.

Peace flew out the window less than two hours later. She was thoroughly sick and tired of being rushed and had he never heard of spontaneity? He retorted that he knew she was too lazy to care about this type of stuff but would she sue him for wanting to spend as much time with her as he could, and somehow the tone of it turned everything into a huge argument that ended with both of them stalking off in different directions: him, somewhere he could sulk and/or cry to Carly, and her off to some pub where she'd angrily ordered some early lunch, had nothing to drink but ginger ale and tried to forget about their fight by thoroughly destroying a bunch of tough biker dudes at pool.

At around four he called her, asking where she was in a low, somewhat dejected tone. She found him waiting by the car, which she had left at their last "stop" on Freddie's list. They drove in silence back to campus and the Little building.

As they got to the parking garage and she turned off the engine, she heard him sigh. He got out of the passenger seat as she opened her own door, and leaning against the car he apologized for arguing with her, and regretted that they had lost an entire day of being together just because they were stubborn. As he went on about his little speech (which she was sure he'd spent all afternoon agonizing over), it suddenly hit her with amazing clarity that there was one thing they needed to really feel close despite the distance. And she really wanted it right then. She wanted _him_.

They didn't even make it back to his dorm room.

Not for a long while, at least. They had sex for the first time in the back seat of Melanie's car, at a parking garage which was thankfully devoid of the usual hubbub of people because it was a long weekend, and it was incredible. Her crawling onto his lap because _of course _she had to be on top, and him thanking heaven that he carried protection in his wallet despite the fact that his mother insisted on repeating some rhyme about abstinence every time she called him.

It was furious and powerful, all a flurry of roaming hands and gasps and moans. She wasn't sappy enough to think that it was "better because there was love," but it was amazing because it was _them_. She, who was usually a taker, giving him back as much pleasure as he was giving her, and any person who met Freddie wouldn't initially think him very intense, but she knew him and she had seen that side of him, she saw it every time they argued, and it was amazing how much stronger she felt it when she wasn't drawing that emotion out of him through insults and taunts.

After a while, they went back to his dorm, chased away by the cold. It was late and they hadn't had dinner, so Freddie pulled some microwavable food out of his mini-fridge and they ate while watching TV. When they were done they moved to his bed and held each other, and it was much like it had been any other time she'd stayed with him, except that he kissed her sweetly and she started slowly pulling off his clothes, and they made love well into the night.

She was driving back to Chicago by eight the next morning, and now there she was, that night occupying her thoughts so much that purchase orders never had a chance to begin with.

She closed her eyes and took a break from the paperwork. Then about a minute later, like he somehow could tell she was thinking about him, her cell phone rang, his name popping up on the screen in block letters. She frowned a little while she bopped her head to the heavy rock music of her ringtone: she noticed the caller ID read "FREDDIE" instead of her usual derogatory nickname. She'd have to change that back ASAP- it irked her a little that he had been tinkering with her phone. Which was rather hypocritical of her considering she messed with his all the time, but well, this was Sam.

When a satisfactory head-bopping time had passed, she hit the talk button. "Yyy-ellow," she quipped, picking her pen back up with a resigned sigh.

"Uh, I... don't really know what to tell you, actually," came his sheepish introduction on the other end of the line.

She paused in her writing, one eyebrow arched, having no clue what he was talking about. "Is that the way folks greet each other in your planet or something?"

"No," he said, and she had to push back the urge to retort with 'so they have some _other_ alien greeting' before he could continue. It was so very fifth grade of her. "I guess I just- I wanted to call you, but now that I did, I don't really know what to say," he admitted, and she thought he sounded almost... giddy. Oh, she should've figured he'd be like this.

"Just don't say 'thank you'," she replied with a chuckle. He would be the type. And after their first kiss, she'd rather not revisit that awkwardness ever again.

"I won't," he assured her with certainty. That assurance lasted for all of a second. "I mean, not that I'm not- uh, thankful, that is, 'cause I _am_, and I guess I should mention that at some point but it wasn't really the reason why I called you-"

"Drunk dialing is bad, Fredwina," she interrupted him before he could babble her to death. Her tone seemed like it could come from a PSA. Sure, it was kind of cute that being with her had reduced him to a babbly pile of goo, but she could only take so much of it. "And it's not even noon. I think you have a problem."

"Ha ha," he let out, dryly. She imagined he was rolling his eyes at her. "So I wanted to hear your voice. Is that bad?"

"Oh, it's horrible," she replied immediately. She smirked, and of course she didn't mean that and she knew he knew, from the way he chuckled. She rested her elbows on the desk in front of her and absentmindedly waved her pen around like a baton as she spoke. "I'm embarrassed for you, really."

He laughed. "Well, it's _your_ fault, actually," he told her, amused. "I spent the last hour in class, yet I have no idea what the topic of today's lecture even _was_," he told her, and the was a sound of shuffling which told her he was probably shaking his head. "Every time I close my eyes I could see us in my head. You, and your hair, your lips, your body, your skin," he added, and he sounded so earnest, it made her want to tell him she was feeling the same way. But she didn't. "It's like you're..." he struggled for words.

"Gorgeous? Amazing? The most perfect woman on Earth? Launcher of a thousand ships?" she suggested, ever-so-helpfully.

He sounded baffled at that last one. "You know the _Illiad_?"

"There was a movie with Brad Pitt," she clarified.

"...Of course," he concluded, deadpan. That explained everything. "No, I was going to say that you've probably ruined me for academics, forever," he added, once again referencing the idea of him zoning out into a daydream during class. Betcha his mother would love that.

She snickered. "You're such a dork, man," she commented, with a shake of her head. She took a moment to glance down at the stack of papers in front of her, and lowered her pen to write a few more specifications that were required for the motor parts.

He wouldn't let her have that point. "Well, you sure weren't complaining about it on Sunday."

Her eyebrows arched up under her fringe. "Well, well. Look who's all smug now," she commented, grinning at his sudden bravado. She liked it. Maybe she should tell him _that_.

"Not smug," he let her know in a sincere tone. "Just happy."

She smiled, but of course she just _had _to tease him. "You are so far up Mushy Creek, dude, it's not even funny," she quipped, kind of amazed at his reaction. Both of their reactions, actually, as hers wasn't too far off- she'd just had years of practice at sounding uncaring. But him, well, she knew she wasn't his first, but one wouldn't know it from hearing him speak.

They were both up that creek, really, although she would never admit it out loud. She'd spent the whole morning reliving that night in her head every time she closed her eyes. She could almost feel his lips on her neck, her breasts, her thighs. She could still feel the heat of him inside her and around her at the same time. The way they moved together and the friction they generated. It was omnipresent. She found herself having to stifle a moan more than once over the course of the day.

"Can you blame me?" he confronted her taunt head on and of course, she couldn't. "It's just- I feel so... odd." He paused for a second, as if rethinking his words, and continued speaking before she had a chance to feel offended. "I mean, it's a _good_ odd, obviously, but... it's like this is pouring out of me, you know what I mean?" She didn't, not really, but she made no comment. "I feel like everybody can notice. Like I have an 'I got laid last Sunday' sign tattooed on my forehead and every person that looks at me will just _know_." He huffed. "And I'm pretty sure you're the only person that can have that effect on me."

"Are you sure you don't _actually_ have an 'I got laid last Sunday' sign taped to your back? 'Cause that would explain things," she asked him, teasing, because she _was_ happy and she loved that only she could have such a strong effect on him. She craved it.

He paused for a few seconds, as if waiting for her words to register. Then the proverbial pin dropped. "You didn't," he sentenced, in that tone he often used around her that bluffed bravery but belied fear. Somehow it made sense to him that she'd be able to tape a sign to his back from all the way in Chicago. Smart boy.

She heard a few pats through the line and she knew he was trying unsuccessfully to look at his back to check if there were any pieces of paper taped there. She broke out in laughter, so hard that she had to put her feet back down on the floor because she couldn't breathe if she had them up. "Chill, Fredward! I didn't," she finally let him out of his misery and he exhaled a relieved sigh.

"That was evil," he told her. If he'd been standing in front of her, he would've been glaring at her, she knew.

"And yet you love me," she said, somehow making it sound like a put-down.

"Unfortunately," he muttered to himself, but with the mouthpiece up close there was no way she could miss it.

She laughed again. "Well, nub, considering you didn't have anything to say when you called me, I would say this conversation has gone on long enough." She grabbed her pen again and started striking a few lines through in a list of orders. "Some of us have lives to get on with, you know."

"Yeah, I should probably let you get back to work," he admitted. Then he sighed. "Gosh, I just- I wish we could be together right now. More than I did before, I think." For a moment it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to her, but then he snapped back into it. "Anyway, yeah. I'll talk to you later, I guess," he finished.

"Right. And try to get all the sappiness out of your system before you do that, alright?" she all but ordered him. "I like insulting you but it's way more fun if you at least give me a challenge." She knew how he felt, because she felt the same way, but that didn't mean it wasn't awkward if he kept bringing it up when she was trying to get her head set straight.

"Your insensitivity never fails to astound me," said Freddie in a deadpan tone, then followed with a much softer and seemingly incongruous "Love you."

"Eh," was her reply, and she heard him groan as she went to flip her phone closed.

Smirking, she tried to get back to her purchase orders, and actually managed to finish a fair few of them, until an idea hit her and she once again took a break, this time to send him a very inappropriate text message which, she was sure, would have him blushing through campus for the entire day.

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**Author's notes!-**

This... is the chapter that almost didn't happen.

See, I had everything up to the ending of the fic written, and I was already patting myself on the shoulder for a job well done, but then I started thinking about it and I found out I really wanted to have a chapter about their first time, if possible. And 10 is a nice, round number for my borderline OCD brain. xD But I couldn't really think of a scenario I liked. It took me a couple of days, which is longer than usual (at least for this fic, which has, against all laws of the universe, flowed out of my fingers in a ridiculously quick manner), but finally it came down to this.

It still feels a little... disjointed from the rest. Like it was tacked on afterwards. Which it was, obvs. But then I also feel I don't want to just scrap it, so I'm posting it as is. I'll let you guys decide how good or bad it was. I was _going _to include a crappy phone sex joke somewhere in there, but I decided not to. It's just tacky. Apparently I have more strength of will than Carly does when it comes to spouting off bad jokes and puns. xD

I have to say, if there's one thing I like about the United States, it's that they have a _lot_ of holidays. Fun. ;) The _Troy_ reference was thrown in there for the folks at the Bickering Sidekicks forum, who in one thread were speculating that Brad Pitt should play the role of Sam's dad. I, uh, don't much think that would work, but I thought it was funny so I decided to make Sam somewhat of a Brad Pitt fan. (I'm not, I kinda hate his guts, actually. Haha).

Chapter 9 is the very last chapter and we will be skipping forward in time a little bit. So stay tuned next Thursday! =)


	10. Chapter 9

**Your Call**

_Chapter 9_

**Author:** Carla, aka cali-chan  
**Rating:** PG-13, mainly for some language.  
**Genre:** Romance, WaFF, some humor, possibly some drama.  
**Pairings:** Freddie/Sam.  
**Canon/timeline:**Post-series. Hopefully.

**Note:** For those of you who had problems seeing chapter 8 last Thursday, I'm so sorry! I found something I wanted to edit and accidentally uploaded the wrong file for about two seconds. I fixed it immediately, but the website took like an hour to update the link, so some of you couldn't see it. Thank you so much to everybody who left me a note saying there had been a mistake, it's appreciated. The correct chapter is up now, in case you didn't get to read it last week. Sorry for the inconvenience!

**Disclaimer:** Oh, god. Dear Dan Schneider and folks from Schneider's Bakery: I want you to know that if I get fired from my job for writing fanfiction instead of, you know, _working_, I'm totally blaming you. You're the ones who created this crazy show that's taken over my brain, after all.

**Summary:** "Honestly, Sam, if you wanted to hear my voice, you could have just _called._"

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The third time Sam Puckett called Freddie Benson, it was also the last time.

She was hungry and she was on the hunt for food. This was nothing new, of course, more like Sam's natural state. What _was _new, however, was that she was on the hunt for food in the seventh floor of a fancy Seattle hotel, wearing a bath robe and slippers.

The hotel staff was too well-trained to be curious, and other than the occasional "May I help you with anything, miss?" they mostly left her alone. She still got a few odd looks from some hotel guests, but Sam was Sam and usually a threatening glare from her was enough to get them to look elsewhere. It was a testament to her temper that she managed to get people to back off even with all the make-up plastered on her face and her curls pulled up in a princessy 'do- to be honest she felt a little ridiculous, and very much like a porcelain doll. Which was not something Sam particularly liked feeling.

However, it wasn't like she could just up and call room service. The gaggle of girly girls back at her room wouldn't let her, and she couldn't just go to one of the restaurants downstairs because she didn't have any money on her at the moment. She briefly contemplated knocking down a waiter and stealing the food, but something told her getting arrested on this particular day wouldn't go well with everybody else.

So instead she decided to go look for a familiar face- a charitable soul who wouldn't mind giving her some food, if possible, but wound up lost in the hotel's maze-like pattern of rooms. She _thought_ Freddie's prep room was somewhere in the seventh floor... that would make sense... but she couldn't find it. That's when she realized she had no choice but to call him.

It took him a while to pick up, and when he did, he greeted her with a bewildered "When did you change my ringtone?"

She had to think about it for a few seconds (she still played so many pranks on so many people on a daily basis, it was hard to keep track of each one), but then she remembered and smirked. It was a small annoyance in the grand scale of things, but the smallest details were always the most satisfying. "Oh, did you like it?" she asked him, deliberately ignoring his question. She would not reveal her tricks.

He didn't deign that taunt with an answer. "Thankfully none of the guys were around to hear Celine Dion blasting out of my cell phone speaker," he let her know, half amused and half vindicated.

She frowned. "Ah. Damn it, bad timing," she moaned. Oh well, at least she could be sure he'd spent at least a minute stupidly wondering what that sound was before realizing it was his cell phone. The mental image was worth it. "Anyway, hey, are you on the seventh floor?"

"No, fifth," he corrected. She rolled her eyes; what idiot would put him two floors down when both her room and the salon were on the seventh floor? "And aren't you supposed to be getting dressed?"

"I snuck out, I couldn't stand it anymore," she whined. "Those fashion Nazis won't let me eat anything! They insist I can't, because I'll ruin my make-up," she huffed. She took a left at the end of the hallway in (what she hoped was) the direction of the elevators.

"Well," he started in that smartypants tone she both hated and loved at the same time, "you wanted your dress to be purple no matter what, so now you have to compromise and wear the fancy make-up. You can't get out of it, you promised Carly," he explained in a 'rubbing it in your face' tone, and oh, he was such a stupid nub.

"I didn't know that meant I wouldn't be able to eat," she muttered, teeth clenched. Surely keeping her hungry _today_ of all days had to be some sort of crime. "I haven't eaten anything since lunch! And that was like _four hours _ago," she protested. "It's like Chinese torture!"

"You're being over dramatic," she could almost hear him roll his eyes.

"_No_, I'm _cranky_. Because I'm _hungry_," she corrected him pointedly as she pressed the down button and waited. "And my head itches from all these bobby pins," she also pointed out, trying to scratch her scalp without bringing down the entire up-do. She hated it, but she didn't want Carly to get on her case for it.

"Oh, and I'm also freakin' horny because that crazy old bat wouldn't let us sleep under the same roof for a week because she thinks you're still pure and innocent and shouldn't be _deflowered_ until today," she added, snorting as she said the word "deflowered" like it was an insult, and thankfully humans cannot actually drown in cynicism because there was enough of it in that sentence to flood the entire elevator. "Seriously, we've been living together for how long? She can't be _that _stupid."

Freddie cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to explain the train of thought behind that particular decision. "It's just... she's very adept at convincing herself of things," he finished feebly.

Sam scoffed. "Delusional, is more like." She shook her head and warned him that she was going in the elevator and the call might get cut off.

There was some noise on the line, but apart from that, the signal remained strong. "Either way, Sam," she heard him say as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor, "that 'crazy old bat' happens to be my _mother_. And, you know, you're eventually gonna have to learn to deal with her, because I can assure you, she is _going_ to be around."

She shook her head. "I already know how to deal with her. When it comes to Marissa Benson, avoidance is the best policy," she quipped, looking around the rows of rooms she'd come to. She knew his room number ended with 23, she'd just had the floor wrong. Now if only she could figure out which direction she had to take to get to 523...

She heard him sigh on the other end of the line. "Still. You could at least _try_. Just humor me here," he offered, trying to sound conciliatory. It was a point of contempt between them that Marissa did not approve of Sam as her son's significant other. Freddie had made it more than clear that he was going to be with her regardless of his mother's opinion, so Marissa was not openly confrontational to her, but they weren't exactly on the best of terms either. And Sam knew her attitude probably didn't help- but hey, could she be faulted? The woman was nuts.

She grunted. "Geez, dude," she complained. "I already said I'd marry you, but now you want _more _than that." She tsk-ed. "Can't you ever be satisfied?"

She heard him chuckle and she just knew he'd be smiling that goofy smile he got whenever the topic of marriage was brought up. She guessed he'd been sporting it all day, probably. It was such a dork thing to do, but it was also kind of adorable. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. "You know," he started, in a teasing tone. "Normal people usually consider this the happiest day of their lives," he informed her.

"Eh, normal's overrated," she replied with a shrug. Because, seriously, when had their relationship ever been normal? And somehow, it worked. The mere fact that they were _here_ and she was all dolled up despite how much she hated this make-up was enough proof. Finally she caught sight of a little sign that pointed her in the direction of the 520's, and hurried down that hallway. "Anyway, do you have any food?"

"I think I have some sandwiches left over," he let her know, helpfully. He was used to being a supply of food for her, he often told her; it kept her happy, and that kept him from ending up injured. "But Sam, you're going to have to send someone for them, we're not supposed to see each other before the wedding-"

"Too late," she interrupted him, finally coming up to 523 and knocking on the door twice.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then he groaned. "Fine," he muttered, and she heard him shuffle about, both through the phone and through the door. "I'm going to open it just a little bit, give you a sandwich and then you can go back to your room, alright?" he said, and she heard him unlock the door and open it just a sliver.

She rolled her eyes at his wanting to stick to absurd traditions. Clearly, he was the girl in this relationship. "Don't be such a sissy, Benson," she said, and started pushing against the door to get it fully open. "Just let me in. It'll be easier in the long run. Mama wants a sammich!"

She felt him attempt to push back. Unfortunately for him, though, she was still stronger than him, so she eventually managed to push him off and entered the room (which was very similar to her own, she noticed, except completely devoid of annoying girls with makeup kits), to find him a few feet away, holding onto the corner to keep himself on his feet, while his phone was on the floor beside him. She flipped her own phone closed and smirked. He glared at her. "_Sam_..."

She shrugged off the glare like it was nothing. "Oh, hey!" she exclaimed, walking up to him as she caught the sight of him in his tuxedo. "I remember this," she said, tugging experimentally on his bow tie. "Yeah. It makes you look like a penguin," she added, letting out a chortle. His glare intensified. "Now, where are those sandwiches?"

She made herself comfortable on the desk chair, picking up the entire tray of ham and chicken sandwiches and digging in with gusto. To her credit, she was trying her hardest not to mess up her make up- she could always reapply her lip gloss later on, anyway. After about a minute, he walked up to her, no longer angry, and stared at her serenely as she ate. "I like it," he said about her hair, and he added to his point by tugging on a curl that was hanging by the side of her face; it bounced back like a spring as he let it go.

She shook her head as she took another bite. "Well, don't get used to it, 'cause it's going down as soon as I go back to my room," she told him, her mouth full. It was an itchy hairdo, anyway.

He rolled his eyes at her. "Must you always defy everything?"

"It's too much unnecessary work," she shot back. Of course, it was all nice and easy for him because all he had to do was put on his tux, comb his hair and be at the altar, but she had to wake up at eight to start getting ready and it was now four in the afternoon and she wasn't even wearing her dress yet. It was just ridiculous.

"One day you might want to look back at this and be happy that it was a beautiful event," he lectured her as she finished the last sandwich in the tray. She'd eaten like a dozen.

"Say," she said as she swallowed, completely ignoring his last sentence. She stood up, took a paper cup from the basket that held the coffee machine, and moved to the bathroom to get herself some water. She was parched. "How do you feel about elopement?" she asked, making her voice louder so he'd hear her all the way to where he was.

She didn't have to, 'cause two seconds later he was resting against the doorway of the bathroom, hands in his pants' pockets. "My Mom would die, and Carly would kill both of us." He raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you want to be responsible for three deaths?"

"Is that a trick question?" she asked back, gulping down half of the water in her cup.

He tried to roll his eyes, apparently, but he couldn't keep in his laughter. Deep down, she knew he loved her crazy antics. "You're one of a kind, Sam," he said, his eyes shining in amusement.

"You know it," she said as she threw the paper cup in the trash. "Well, Fredwick," she quipped, wiping her hands on her bathrobe. "It's been fun, but now I gotta get back before Carly sends in the Missing Persons Squad. That would be annoying."

She moved past him and toward the door without as much as a goodbye. He managed to catch her around the waist as she walked, though, and pulled her to him, leaning in to give her a sweet kiss. When he pulled back, he was smiling. "I... will see you at the altar," he let her know.

She rolled her eyes at him. "_Maybe_," she said as she disentangled herself from him and moved out of the room. Oh, of course she'd be there- she was past the point of cold feet now- but either way it was her job to be difficult, from the moment they met and now for the rest of their lives.

He leaned his head out the door to watch her walk away. "And don't say 'maybe' when the Priest asks you if you take me as your husband!"

"_Maybe!_" she shot back, not even bothering to turn back to look at him.

She couldn't see him, but she knew from his tone that he was grinning. She could pinpoint every nuance of his voice after so many years. "Love you!" he finally exclaimed, and she gave him a backward wave as she took a left at the end of the hallway, on her way to the elevators.

As she got in, she pocketed her phone, which she'd been holding this whole time in her hand. Yes, that had been the last time Sam Puckett would ever call Freddie Benson. Because in a couple of hours, she'd no longer be Sam Puckett. Frankly, she was sure she'd never get used to that; but it was going to happen.

And, now that she thought about it, switching to a joint minutes family plan was going to be a bitch. She just knew it.

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**Author's notes!-**

Smallish note: I have no idea which religion they'd be, so I just randomly assigned them mine- Freddie could probably be Catholic since he's talked about church on the show, and I figure Sam may very well have some Italian ancestry; girl does sometimes act like she'd fit right at home with the Mafia! LOL. xD Anyway, if that's wrong, let me know and I'll change it.

And we've come to the end! ;_; Man, this thing flew by faster than I ever expected. Thank you, Dan Schneider and Schneider's Bakery and Nickelodeon for allowing me another of my _very_ few fics to be finished. In case that doesn't convey how rare this is... it's _really_ rare for me to finish a multi-chapter. That's why I mostly stick to one-shots, in fact. But this one came out quickly, and I rather kinda liked it, which is also a rare thing in the mind of Carla. So thank you very much, _iCarly_!

I really hope you liked this, guys. And be sure to leave me your comments! I have a few more ideas for Freddie/Sam fanfics, that I hope to be able to write eventually. So any encouragement is more than appreciated. Please review!


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